


Entangled

by Chaerring, Trilies



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Anal Sex, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Misunderstandings, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pre-Canon, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 90,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaerring/pseuds/Chaerring, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trilies/pseuds/Trilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No paperwork, no name staying the same for long, nowhere they've stayed in past a few years- It's for these reasons that Viper was so confident that they'd never meet their soulmate. They'd never asked for one in the first place, after all. What good would it do them? Yet, of course, fate finds a way... </p><p>Viper swears they're going to put fate itself on their hit list. </p><p>You know. </p><p>After they kill the arrogant and infuriating man they're bound to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vincture

The alarm blares something not mundanely annoying but the screeching garble of some radio host, and it takes some of Viper's will not to fling the thing across the room.   
  
_The world truly is a horrible place_  they grouch as they extract themselves from the pile of pillows, blankets, and sheets that they'd made in the furthest corner of the hotel room. It's a testament to their laziness, they're sure, that they don't make the small journey to the bed itself and the little table besides it to turn off the alarm. Instead, they just need a twist of their fingers and a pale shadowy imitation of a human figure turns it off for them. If they were a lesser illusionist, they'd worry about such a silly waste of power. Today, after all, is a work day with quite a bit of money on the line. Viper isn't concerned. They haven't spent the last couple of years searching out fellow illusionists to dominate for nothing. They're the best in the world and they  _know_  it.   
  
Their body might be small, but they have power to spare.   
  
With the radio alarm off, the hotel room is blissfully silent, and Viper lets themself wake up easily enough on the way to the bathroom. It's not the most lavish hotel- they've had better- but it suits their purposes well enough. It's clean, has a bed, and possesses a bathroom. Anything more extravagant would unfortunately give attention to them and what their client is trying to do.   
  
It's a job they refresh themself on as they tidy up their appearance in the mirror, eyes glancing down to the papers they'd come into possession a good week or so ago. They've done protection jobs before. As an illusionist, it's one of the easiest things for them. Their power's very nature is to obscure, to confuse, to hide. They've taken more than a few jobs along these lines. Viper just doesn't think they've ever had a client with  _this many people_  wanting him dead. Even they have to marvel it as they twist the toothbrush in their mouth to get out of the way as they read.  
  
Viper doesn't even really care about the "how", honestly, but they still have to snort as their gaze makes its way down the paper. This one was a politician, and politicians always made enemies. That's nothing new. Yet making enemies of so many different criminal organizations? Well, at least they can say it's impressive. Almost as impressive at how long he's been able to stay alive long enough by jumping from safehouse to safehouse until now: when they've finally arrived for the unpleasant job of keeping the old fool alive long enough to get on a plane and out to hopefully strike a deal with someone who might actually ally with him. Already, the job screams  _tedious_. If it also didn't simultaneously scream  _payload_...   
  
Idly, as they bind the papers in another illusion before packing them away again, Viper wonders if it's too late for them to see if there are any particularly high bidders that would pay them a nice amount to kill the imbecile themself.   
  
Who are they kidding? Nothing helps raise the amount of numbers on a paycheck like sweet  _sweet_  desperation.   
  
That's enough to put them in a good mood as they dress. The first time they'd met the man, it had been all flow and mystery. Today, they jerk on a hooded jacket with multiple layers and boots with heels only an inch or two that are more thick than tall. Utterly practical, even the pants, although there's no one to appreciate it as they make their way down to the ground floor. A job like this means they'll be constantly steeped in illusions one way or another, even now before they're at the client's side. Stepping outside of the hotel, making their way onto the busy streets by foot until they can catch a cab... Viper takes a moment to breathe in deep.   
  
It's a city like a hundred others they've been to over the years. Buildings cluttered thick together, metal and concrete fairly embracing one another as the glass shines harshly from the sun. Maybe there's something different to it- to the color of the people, to the splashes of hue they flaunt on their clothes, the kinds of buildings there are in more than just shape.   
  
Viper can't say they'd know anything about that.  
  
Yet the smell is the same, and hailing a taxi is as easy as it ever is whether they've been in New York or Hong Kong. That's the kind of comfort available to them, although the same can't be said for the seats of the car which makes the illusionist wrinkle their nose. It's a long winding drive to where they need to be, the cab's wheels seeming to meet every single bump or ditch in the road. Viper makes a mental note to themself to charge their client extra for the annoyance even as they glance out onto the city and let their mind space out into plans and illusions they'll need for this job.   
  
Finally arriving at the safehouse requires a tiresome route that at least has to be partially taken on foot so that they lose anyone that might be following them (unlikely) along with an equally annoying confrontation with the hired muscle to prove that they are who they say they are. Viper deals with it. These things are to be expected when idiots make so many enemies. At long last, they're finally escorted to the heavily secured room where their client waits. With the muscle leaving to guard the door, Viper casts a judging eye on the old bastard.   
  
They're not impressed. They weren't expecting to be, honestly. A politician on the run? Never a good look. Yet up close, the illusionist finds themself even more annoyed. The man is gaunt as a scarecrow, skin stretched over his face like Nature forgot to make enough so it did what it could with not enough. They're not entirely sure if that's his natural look or if he's just not been eating. His nose is so out of alignment, it's entirely possible he's been punched in the face once. Considering his history? Viper wouldn't be surprised.   
  
The worst part, however, is that he  _sweats_. They can see it a mile away as he jerks up from his seat and hustles towards them in a walk that's a hair's width from becoming a run. It glistens along the lines of his forehead and shines slickly along his outstretched fingers as he makes like he'll grab their hand or shoulders. Immediately, Viper makes their body rigid and thins their lips in clear warning. That's all it takes to stop the man in his tracks, making so that he grabs and rubs his own hands instead of them.   
  
"Viper, finally!" the man says. In contrast to the wetness of his skin, his voice is dry. It wheezes worse than a busted up car. By that alone, Viper half wonders if he might die from a self inflicted heart attack before any hitman can do anything. "It's been pins and needles all this time. I was starting to go half mad from waiting. Jumping at shadows, even!"   
  
_And whose fault is that?_  is the thought that goes through Viper's head. Because they value their money, they keep those words locked away and allow, in their place, "I came as soon as I could, when I could be certain of your location. Since you contacted me, I've been familiarizing myself with those who would want you dead." It's not a lie. Considering the list, they've needed the extra time. "Has anything happened in the last few days?"  
  
Their client gives a shudder, starting a frantic pace about the room in contrast to Viper's utter stillness. "Last night, there was someone who passed by on the street outside- worse that my own men didn't say anything about it! I heard it only in passing, they seemed to think that it wasn't worth mentioning in an official report! It makes me worried what else they've neglected to say!"   
  
"I see," is their bland response, a good cover for the biting commentary running softly in their own head. There's no chance to say anything else. Just the slightest encouragement of someone listening to his ramblings has him whirl around to speak again.   
  
"You  _will_  keep me safe, won't you?"  
  
A flicker of insult bursts in their chest, but Viper keeps their calm. "I'm the best in the business, sir. For how much you're spending, I will certainly keep you alive until you can board your plane."  _And **only**  until then._. Cutting him off before he can say much else, Viper continues on. "There's still some time before we leave for the flight. I'll speak with your bodyguards to make sure that everything is in order and arrange things. It may be best for your own protection if you stay in here until the time comes to leave." They wait only for his head to bob rapidly in a nod before whirling on their heel and taking their leave. Frankly, it's a relief to go.   
  
It's not a lie, however, that they go over everything with a fine toothed comb. They acquaint themself with the bodyguards. They go over the luggage to make sure nothing is out of place or suspicious. The car they'll be using for the trip to the airport is looked over to make sure there's no bombs, and they consult with the driver to make sure that he has a cool head in the face of potential gunfire or worse. It's as the clock ticks ever nearer to their departure time does Viper finally slip into one of the only other bathrooms in the place and take in a deep breath.   
  
This is the hard part.   
  
They weren't lying when they said they were the best in the business. That much, they're sure of. They've worked, tirelessly and for years, to make sure of this. Yet as they stare into their own reflection, a stab of bitterness pierces through them suddenly.   
  
The mirror shows nothing but gray.   
  
Soul mates.  _Bonds_. It's a concept they've grown to despise more and more over the years because of how destiny clearly dealt them an almost useless hand from birth. Some people got markings that responded when their soul mate was near. Others, an identifying word or phrase or even an actual _name_  if they were really fortunate. Some had something to do with scent, or heard a sound. Any of those, and Viper knows they wouldn't be nearly filled with loathing as they are. Yet in some revolting display of irony... They have such a gift with illusions, crafting something out of nothing, yet they're blind to damned  _color_.  
  
Invisibility, whether on themself or on other objects, has strangely never been an issue. It was one of the first things they learned as a child, as a matter of fact, a survival instinct that came naturally. Crafting is another matter entirely.   
  
They keep a calm head and swipe the sudden surge of feelings underneath the rug as they let their power slip over their form. They don't know why they're getting aggravated now. This is something they've dealt with all their life, and they have a workaround now as they craft first the basics of their appearance. Mold before color is the path their habit has formed around when they have the time and there's no need to rush with instantaneous illusions. After that, they feel out the color and shades.   
  
'Feel'. It's the only way they can think to describe how they've managed to get a handle on a power whose potential isn't fully reached. Every color, every shade, has its own unique sensation. It's subtle and quiet, easy to miss. If they never had this deficiency, Viper wonders if they ever would have noticed it.   
  
Shades of purple is the easiest for them to fall back on, and it's been a while anyway- they let their jacket and pencil skirt fill in with it. By the time they're done, the image in the mirror is someone entirely different. The colors may be lost on them, but Viper knows that the woman in the reflection is the typical blonde with big blue eyes that widen helplessly. It's the kind of person that gets overlooked in businesses like this. No spine, no guts, a victim down to the bone, and who would pay any mind to that kind of person when there are armed bodyguards and a target to take out? They practice expressions for a short minute, just to get into it, before their eyes flicker up to the clock.   
  
Time to earn their pay.   
  
"The car is ready," they announce as they stride into the old coot's room again, silvery voice matching the click of their heels. Aural illusions they have down flawlessly. "I ask that you stay by my side for the entire duration of this trip until you're in the plane, sir. I'll be keeping you hidden with an illusion until then." It's pleasing to note that all he can do is nod hastily in deference to their expertise. They'd argued enough in their previous correspondence, when Viper had just wanted to squirrel him away in the middle of the night when no one was expecting it. As it was, counting on the crowded nature of a busy airport would have to do as deterrent.   
  
Their Mist conceals him and, as it drapes across his form, Viper feels through it the colors on him- the crinkled beige of his skin, the damp navy that made up his suit. It makes it easy to make a mimic of him, and Viper smiles at their work. Good- this should confuse any hitman, certainly long enough for either the guards or they themself to take out any threats.   
  
They send the double ahead, and he's surrounded convincingly enough by his bodyguards as they make their way to the car. The pretty little blonde secretary that no one would ever glance twice at? She trails behind timidly, a perfect mask to wear as the illusionist beneath it keeps a sharp eye out on both their invisible client and anything out of the ordinary. It's a short and clear journey- nothing happens. It should be good, but Viper can only frown slightly as they make sure to get their charge in after his double. Funny. They'd half been expecting an attack right out the gate. On the way there, then. There'll be plenty of chances for  _that_.  
  
And there are. There are no artificial obstructions like a conveniently timed and placed car crash, however, even with that, every stop light is an opportunity for a bullet to make its way into the car. Yet it's an utterly smooth journey. Possibly the smoothest Viper has ever had while on the job. They should be satisfied.   
  
Instead, every passing minute makes them more and more aggravated until it's a challenge not to gnaw on their own knuckles from bewildered frustration. They're nowhere near new enough to this business to shrug it all off as "easy money". They know what to expect, what happens. There should be, at the very least, the glint of a gun from a street corner hastily withdrawn as the shooter realizes it's not worth it for whatever reason. With how much of a hawk's eye they've been keeping on their surroundings, they refuse to believe that they would have missed a thing. At some point, the fool they're protecting starts to babble about how well things are going, cracks some poor joke about how maybe he shouldn't have to pay them after all, but their frigid silence seems to kill that idea in its tracks. Which is good, of course. If he tried to stiff them, Viper would hunt down the old bastard themself.  
  
As the airport looms closer and closer, Viper finally slumps from how much they've mentally exhausted themself from being driven up the metaphorical wall. They're too close now for any sensible hitman to come after them, other cars congested around their own on all sides. Has another illusionist fooled them, and they're not actually at the airport, and their fool client is going to die any second now? No, that's ridiculous. Even humoring the laughable idea that there's a better illusionist than them around, Viper is positive that they would have at least felt  _something_  be off.   
  
There's no more time to think. As they inch their way into the airport drop off, Viper finally turns to acknowledge their client for the first time after getting into the car. "I'm going to keep you under an illusion. When I get out, you come right with me, do you understand? When you get into that plane," they cut him off as he starts to protest, "then you can do whatever you like. You can even kill yourself and spare any assassins the trouble! But until my job is over, you hired me for your protection and so what I say is going to go."  
  
He fortunately agrees, because it would have been a shame to have to strangle him with his own tie.   
  
Viper rubs at their temples as the car finally comes to a stop, waiting for the door to be opened for them. They step out, and having a more feminine cover allows for another little advantage. They can stand there, pretending to fiddle and straighten out their appearance, allowing their client to slip out unseen as well. Alright, that's done. Now they just have to get the luggage through, pass through airport security (like they're going to entertain the notion on such a tight schedule), and shove their fool of a client into a plane. Three arguably easy steps, and they can be done with this job.   
  
...Maybe things really are this simple, for once. Who knows, maybe someone heard that they were on the job and decided that it wasn't worth it. They scoff quietly under their breath as they give a quick glance around. A chauffeur should be around somewhere... Sure enough, they spot a figure approaching from the corner of their eye and turn on their heels to look at him-   
  
Viper can't breathe.   
  
There's simply no describing it all. It should be "just" an airport. This is hardly the first time they've been in one. Hell, by this point in their life, they're fairly certain they've been in probably a hundred, maybe more. Yet they've never really  _seen_  one before. Not like this. Not with the only gray being on the pavement, or the asphalt, and yet even that's doing it a disservice because now they can see the faint flushes of brown along it from dirt and dust and footprints that have piled on over one another as years have passed. Surely, it has to be brown, right? They'd always known the name, the sensation, and mimicked it accordingly, but now it's one of the most eye-catching things they've ever noticed. Only then it's replaced by how they notice how brilliant yellow is when it's swathed across the heels of a woman hustling out from the automatic doors, and then their gaze leaps over to the boldness of red that's draped over a man's suitcase. Grays and browns and blues all so distinctly different from one another, all the cars and bags and people traveling through with their clothes everything from deep black to contrasting brilliant reds or greens. They can actually  _see_  the lavender they'd made their suit. For years, their entire life, they've had to carefully  _bullshit_  the color of their illusions, a frustrating endeavor where they learned to the feel of different colors their illusions showed that their eyes refused to pick up. And now, all of a sudden and out of nowhere...  
  
It's almost too much, enough that it nearly makes their mind blank out. Viper almost wants to collapse to the ground and laugh.   
  
They'd hated other illusionists for that difference between them. Not because they were other illusionists who threatened the jobs they could get- that was just business, they weren't petty about  _that_ \- but because they never had to deal with such a thing. It all came so clearly to them. An whole entire world they could see, every bit of it, and thinking about it in the past had made Viper feel like they were made of acid. They'd had to fight, and struggle, and work so goddamn hard with their own power just to be on the same level let alone better than anyone else in the world.   
  
But they don't have to now. They can see everything in so much depth, such variety, and yet they want to scream and swear because it's  _amazing_  and they know exactly why it's happening.  
  
The answer is plain to see, quite literally. It settles deep in their stomach as they stare at the chauffeur and take in how he almost seems to  _glow_  with color even though they logically know that his navy uniform should be dark and neat. God _dammit_.   
  
The realization that they've been staring, noticeably so, finally hits Viper and they jerk their head away with their heart lodged in their throat. Of all the times to find the person they were connected to... Destiny truly does hate them. But the job, their  _money_ , comes first, and they forced themself to move from their nearly frozen state of being. At least they knew what he looked like, where he worked. They could finish this job up and, if nothing else, get his information. What they'd do after... They could figure it out.   
  
"Be careful with that, please." Another advantage of illusions, this one auditory- they can hide the true emotions in their voice as they approach the man bent over the open trunk. "Some of that luggage is very expensive." Their words make him glance up, revealing another bit of irony in this moment. An entirely new world is open to them in terms of what they can see. Even still, the hair that peeks just slightly beneath his cap and the eyes that skim over their body appreciatively are both blacker than an abyss. Their sight of five minutes ago wouldn't have found it particularly striking. It's with everything else flooding with color that they're all the more noticeable, more fascinating in a way that draws them in.   
  
They don't want to admit it, but he's actually fairly handsome. That pisses them off for some reason- perhaps because of the traitorous thought that slithers through their mind from the way he'd openly appreciated the illusion.  _He's going to end up disappointed by the real thing._  They strangle that line of thinking, because they refuse to be self conscious now after all these years, and instead direct their gaze to the trunk. Most of the luggage is out already-   
  
Gunshots. Bangs.   
  
Besides them, their idiot of a client gives a small shout. There's time to curse him later. The illusion widens her eyes as they step back as though in fear and shock, and beneath it is Viper's intent is to move back so that they can see the car. There'd been no sound of glass breaking, and the reason for that is obvious: there are bullet holes  _through the floor_. It's unbelievable, ridiculous, and it's not enough to stop them from trying to do their job to cover up after their ridiculous jackass of a client gave away his position. No, what stops them is a tall figure in navy coming between them and the car. Protecting them. Deep inside, a small part of them murmurs its pleased surprise.   
  
The rest of them is screaming  _You erroneous vile-filled-cock of a human embarrassment, you're between me and my **client**!_  
  
Only... he's not. Beneath the commotion and yelling of the crowd around them at the sound of gunfire, they can hear blood splattering onto the ground. The illusion they have wrapped around the man is tugged downwards as his body, his corpse, crumples onto the pavement.   
  
Their soulmate, the chauffeur, steps to the side even as they push past him. They forget about him entirely as they put their mind to the mildly tricky business of pulling the illusion off of their  _former_  client while still keeping the masses deceived with another. Viper needs only a second to glance over the corpse to see the direction of the bullet entry right through his heart to realize something. A cold fury washes over them straight to the bone and they whirl around away from the spots of startling crimson on the ground. Sure enough, there's that tall figure in navy starting to stride away into the crowd.   
  
Such a noble bystander, to get between the pretty girl and danger... only to promptly ditch her a second later.   
  
The  _rotten bastard_.


	2. Cherish and Decipher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up much longer. Much obliged to Chaer, who did much of the writing for this whereas I simply wiggled my way around and adjusted things in a bunch of ways ha ha.

If you had grabbed any one of the myriad of people passing through the airport and asked them what they thought of one particular chaeuffeur standing patiently and obediently to the side, perhaps what they thought his morning had been like, the answers would likely have been mundane.   
  
They'd talk about the care that went into such a hairless face and the way he stands neatly, surmising that he's a tidy man by nature. They'd guess, like any other, that he had an uneventful breakfast and had a nice large cup of coffee for such an early morning- the good stuff, considering the expensive material of his shoes. Then he'd driven to work. Perhaps some of the romantics and writers would offer more, like how such a handsome face surely must have found his soulmate by this point. That one they'd be wrong on, but he's never shown anyone what's on his back and he never will.  
  
All in all, likely anyone going through the airport this morning doesn't look twice at such a mundane man. That's how Reborn wants it.   
  
It'd be trouble, after all, if anyone else here knew about the gun holstered securely beneath his coat or how he'd looked carefully at the information over his espresso that detailed his current hit's appearance and how much money he could use to buy just about any protection in the world. He's lucky in one way: being not a part of the mafia means that he's not technically bound to follow their rules and thus he's not the Vindice's problem.   
  
Then again, Reborn reflects as he adjusts his cap, perhaps the Vindice would have been a kindness. A  _horrifying_  kindness, all bandages and chains and glares that even made him uncomfortable whenever he's run into them in the past, but certainly less of a scene such as the one he himself had possessed a front row seat to as the various Families had clamored to which of them would be responsible for collecting the man's head. He's certain that even if his contract with the Vongola hadn't called for his services, he'd have had any number of others nearly shoving money into his hands to see the man dead. Even if the fool of a man wasn't a part of the mafia, that didn't mean they couldn't see swift retribution be leveled out. Preferably, of course, with a bullet to the heart.   
  
It's why they called him in the first place. Patiently, Reborn checks his watch for the time. There's no need to worry about anyone shooing him away. A quick cash bribe had taken care of that problem. Now all he has to do is wait. He's positive that none of the man's security will expect this. They'd bank on the  _normal_  assassination methods: during the best possible moment, away from too many people, perhaps when he left his safehouse instead of right at the airport. For a textbook assassination, that'd be an excellent time and place.   
  
For him, just the very idea of being considered textbook could make his face contort into a grimace. One doesn't become the best hitman in the world by being textbook. His habits have become centered on picking the worst and least likely times when it's come to carrying out his hits.   
  
Besides. The airport is undoubtedly a risky place for a murder. Its drop off area is less so. There's less security, and yet still enough people that it's hard to spot him lying in wait for his target.   
  
Sure enough, when the car pulls up, there's not the slightest bit of suspicion in any of the guards' actions as Reborn strides up to the rear of the vehicle. Even with his long legs, however, he still has a few more steps to go when the door opens.   
  
The list of names between his shoulder blades burns.   
  
Most people have only one name. For those that have more, none of the other names have a line struck through them- symbols of something lost, he knows it. The only time he's ever felt his mark react has never been when he's met another person who reacted to him, but to send a line through one name as another has been scrawled beneath it.   
  
It's difficult to dismiss it considering those circumstances, but he's a  _professional_. Later, after this job is done, he'll find a mirror and look. For now, he keeps striding forward and glances at the woman who's just stepped out of the car.   
  
She's a delicate sort of pretty, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail draped over her shoulder like spun gold and a soft lavender suit following the curves of her body. If he wasn't 'Reborn', was still that man from before who'd been hopeful for a perfect and gentle partner, he knows he would have hoped she was the reason for his mark's reaction. However, it's been a long time since then. His tastes have changed considerably. As in, his tastes require that his partners have some level of spine. The dainty blonde besides the car clearly doesn't. His gaze slides right over her.   
  
It's only as he's rounded the back to the trunk that he realizes she's still standing in front of the door fiddling with her clothes and the man inside the car hasn't moved at all.  _Ah_. Immediately, his gaze snaps back to her direction even as he bends to pop the trunk.   
  
So. It's likely his target has an illusionist on the payroll. Who knows- perhaps the woman  _is_  the illusionist. It's a good part to play, well made and well tailored to the expectations of others. Even he'd nearly dismissed her. Whether it's her or the scene is simply being watched, regardless, things have become considerably more complicated with the target being who knows where. He can hear the click of her heels as she starts to approach the back, so Reborn acts quickly. His gun slides out from its holster easily, and its silencer ensures that the bullets are shot into the ground without anything to give away what's just happened. By the time the "secretary" has come around the back, his gun is hidden away once more and his hands are on a suitcase.   
  
"Be careful with that, please." His eyes flicker up to her as she speaks. "Some of that luggage is very expensive."   
  
Openly, he sweeps his eyes over her as though in appreciation. If she's not an illusion, she's unarmed, but honestly she's too perfectly done up  _not_  to be one. People on the run don't look so professionally done up, from makeup to clothing.   
  
All it takes is the slightest push of his Will, an ignition of his Flame, he releases the bullets buried in the ground so that they shoot up straight through the bottom of the car with a ricocheting bang announcing their presence. He stumbles away from the trunk, like he's just an innocent chauffeur, like it wasn't his own hand that shot those bullets out, but he keeps his senses trained on his surroundings.   
  
His reward comes quick: there are screams and yells from the crowds in the drop off, yes, but there's a sudden cry right in the empty space next to the secretary. Playing the role of the noble fool, he slides between her and the car- and the target. Hoping he's blocking the illusionist's view, he doesn't hesitate in sliding his gun out swiftly and opening fire.   
  
Blood splurts across the pavement, absolutely perfect in every way for hitting the heart. The gun is gone again even as he hears the woman behind him give a gasp, and Reborn takes his leave even as she stumbles around him. There, done. Now he can just disappear, vanish without a trace, and concentrate on getting back to his hotel room. Simple.   
  
" _Sir_!"  
  
Ah, but there's that complication...   
  
He's barely gotten a foot into the crowd when he hears the woman's voice rise up behind him, laden with tears and fear. A display of waterworks like that, from a woman looking as she does, is the exact kind of thing that draws the crowd's attention in making  _him_  look like the bad guy. (Which he is- just not how they think.) It's a move that has him silently applaud the illusionist in his head. He'll have to see if he can dig up their identity later. From time to time, his job  _does_  get boring. Having an opponent like this in the protection business... That could be fascinating for the future. The crowd parts, making the path clear for the secretary to get right to him, and her fingers wrap tight around his hand.   
  
The  _burst_  of sensation that strikes through the middle of his back catches him off-guard, an ignition of energy and heat as if he's set his own flames ablaze across his skin. They center right between his shoulder blades and down his spine. He doesn't think. Pure emotion has him twist around, an action that tugs the secretary closer. " _Viper_." It's a sharp whisper that escapes his lips before he gains back his control and his eyes sweep over the illusion once again, narrowed. "The acting could use some work. The anguish doesn't sound real." Out of anyone, a hitman would know.   
  
As if to spite his own critique, the 'woman' gives a wet sob and steps closer, head bowed. "Oh  _sir_ , I was so scared!" is the wail which warbles out. Yet beneath the heaved out and noisy tears, he can hear that same voice underlaid beneath the crying. Undoubtedly for his ears only.   
  
"Oh, if we're leveling criticism about one another's acting, then what kind of dashing Prince Charming saves a helpless girl only to leave her at the scene of the crime without so much as a word?" Venom coats every angry word hissed out to him. "That was my  _client_."  
  
People are going to start getting suspicious if the two of them just stand here, having a quiet argument. That's something  _neither_  of them need, considering their professions. So Reborn wraps his arm around the overlaid illusion, turning the scene into one of reassurance and comfort as a man escorts a pretty young woman away from the grisly murder. Classic. Besides, he needs to get to his car already.   
  
"I never claimed to be a prince, although I could be charming for you." Whoever this illusionist is beneath it all, they  _are_  his soulmate and that means more than they know. They've earned some of his better manners, even if they snort under their breath at his own words. His lips turn down, just slightly apologetic- it's not an expression he wears often. "You were between me and my target. I don't like shooting through people unless I have to." Of course, pretty words are cheap, so he offers, "I'll take you out with my pay if you like. I'm sorry we had to meet for the first time at cross purposes."   
  
The one name on his back that isn't crossed out... He wants this chance. A chaotic concoction of emotions is buzzing in him at finally meeting a soulmate after so long.   
  
The illusionist whose fingers are entwined with his doesn't seem to have the same line of thoughts, because their immediate response is a challenging "Do you really think you can charm things away with dinner?" Behind them, in the now far away background, he can hear the yelling renew itself. Ah. They've likely released the illusion they'd kept over the corpse. The two of them really do need to leave the area right away.   
  
Illusionists are the type of people whose very power relies on deception. So, obviously, the best route to go with is honesty as he replies, "No, I don't think you'd be my soulmate if you were easy to handle. Frankly, if you were, I'd be disappointed." That, he doesn't think they'll be so accustomed to.   
  
Another scoff, and the feminine illusion's lips turn up in a frown. "What does that say about you then..."   
  
"That I'm a difficult person, and that I enjoy challenges." The frown turns decidedly into something more of a pout. How much of that is truth and how much of that is Viper simply playing up their act? Either way, they're not showing curiosity towards himself so he supposes he'll just have to keep imparting information about his person on his own if they like it or not. Starting with... "I'm called Reborn."  
  
It's not his name. Maybe eventually it will be, but not yet. At the bottom of him still lurks the name his neglectful parents gave him. He's not sure when it'll be completely covered up.   
  
Beneath his arm, his soulmate- or their illusion at any rate- shrugs out from underneath his arm. He lets them. They're far enough away and out of sight from the murder scene that it should be fine. He can see his car in the distance as well, although that reminds him... "Would you consider something closer to what you actually look like? I understand hiding your identity, but weak blonds aren't my favorite look."  
  
Although, he'll give the illusion its due. When it raises one fine eyebrow up and crosses its arms imperiously, it's much closer to his preferred visuals of a person who does in fact possess a spine. "You kill my client and then want me to change my appearance for you without pay? You really aren't a gentleman."   
  
"No, I'm a hitman. There's a big difference. I could  _play_  a gentleman for you if you'd rather. For free, even." A teasing edge is to his words, which only seems to somehow make that pout more intense.   
  
As the two of them approach his car, there's another low murmur. "Just because you're my soulmate doesn't mean anything."   
  
Maybe not yet. It's something they don't say, but he knows that if such a thing was true, they wouldn't have even admitted it in the first place. His fingers catch the door handle of his car, holding it open for them. They don't go in immediately, displaying a caution as they lay delicate seeming hands upon the door instead. "Would you be more comfortable driving yourself?" he asks as he leaves them to it, deftly working on undoing his uniform disguise.   
  
Their gaze leaves the car to focus on him as he goes around to open a backseat door, a garment bag swinging from where it's hooked. "You can drive, so long as you tell me exactly where you plan on taking the two of us."  
  
"Taking you back to my hotel seems a little forward in this situation, even if it  _would_  be private," he responds as he slides the chauffeurs coat off of his shoulders. Traded in it's place is a fitted suit and tie, all neat and quality made. "A nice private table at a restaurant of your choosing instead, maybe? I don't know what's excellent in the area."   
  
They're still watching him. For the first time in years, self consciousness creeps up along his spine. He's always aware of his appearance, how to present himself, but now he's wondering if it's too hard edged. Too cliche. Too neat, even. It's all the worse because, true to the nature of any professional illusionist, it's impossible right now to find Viper's own tells and what their appearance gives away to their true personality.  
  
"Fine," they say suddenly, their false voice helping to keep his mind on track instead of focusing on sudden insecurities. "I suppose at least one of us has to know the layout of this city, and it happens to be me. I'll guide you to a place I've heard of, although I give no guarantees that it's even decent."   
  
"I know the city," he says dryly as he closes the backdoor. "Just not it's contents."   
  
Apparently, he might as well not spoken at all, because the illusionist seems to ignore his words as they finally make the move to step inside the car. The air shifts seamlessly around them, and he watches as someone completely and utterly different to the fragile blonde of before settles in his car. Skin the color of deep mahogany replaces the fair tone of before, and deep brown curls fall around a strong jaw. If he ever saw such a person on the street, he'd assume it to be a man now dressed in pale purple. It's truly a flawless transition; his trained eyes can't pick up the slightest trace of anything inbetween the secretary and this person. It's impressive. Certainly attractive and much more to his tastes, he reflects as he goes around to open the door to the driver's side.   
  
"Better than the first to be sure," he says as he takes his seat, "but I still think you must look nothing like this underneath your illusions."  
  
Bold brown eyes turn to survey him from a pair of glasses. "How do you know?"  
  
"I didn't, until you just told me," he admits plainly as he starts the car. "It was a good guess since you refused to look more like yourself when I asked. I doubted you would show yourself that easily after having put your foot down." He gives a nod to them. "Where are we headed?"  
  
Viper gives him the directions, and he makes his way out of the parking lot to the freeway that will take them away from the airport and into the cosmopolitan areas of the city. He sees this illusion turn its head away from him, seemingly focused on the view outside the window. His own fingers tap along the steering wheel.   
  
"I will be honest and say I've never been particularly fond of illusionists before." From the corner of his eye, he can see them stiffen up at the sudden admission. Reborn keeps going. "I will lie and deceive for my jobs, for my contract with the Vongola Family, but in personal situations I will refuse to answer before I will tell a lie. The illusionists I've met in the past seem unable to separate the deception of their craft from their attitudes at all."   
  
They've turned to face him more properly, now, and the cold insult in those dark eyes seems genuine as anything. Before they can protest, he forges on. "I don't mean what you just did."   
  
That seems to buy him some amount of time, that narrowed gaze widening in confusion, and Reborn keeps going before they can recover from being thrown off. "That was an impressive show of your skill, and when I commented you were willing to admit it's still an illusion. You've been honest already about your displeasure with my interference in your job, and some of your own feelings in this situation. I appreciate that." The car slips amongst the traffic easily, easier than this conversation, and he switches his hands on the steering wheel to hide how he adjusts in his seat restlessly.   
  
"You could never show me what you actually look like, choose as many forms as you like, but I would prefer to know they're a product of your work than ever think a falsehood was your real body. Is that explanation understandable for a portion of my character?"  
  
It's hard to tell what Viper is thinking although it's plain to see they're uncomfortable enough to make him sigh in his head. He hadn't meant to do that to them... The silence seems almost awkward until they cross their arms. "I didn't ask for an oral essay," they murmur before raising their voice for a more proper reply. "I hope you're not expecting me to return the favor and tell you everything about myself."  
  
A snort escapes him. "You won't show me what you look like," he points out as he keeps his eyes to the road once again. "I hardly expect you to  _talk_ about yourself. I simply don't like to be misunderstood, and I wanted to explain myself before you hear about my reputation if you haven't already." After all, in his line of work, he  _has_  killed illusionists before. That sort of thing has a tendency to spread through the information networks of certain _businesses_.  
  
No immediate reply is given to him, and he can see the way the illusion at least looks away from him. Silence passes for just a moment or so as he guides the car off the freeway-  
  
"I hate you."   
  
The words are sudden and sharp, and the car rolls to a stop at a stoplight. They hit him straight through where so many bullets have failed to do the same. It's not fair at all the way it settles cold and hard in his chest. They shouldn't have that kind of effect on him just because it's their name between his shoulder blades.   
  
Viper keeps going. "Half an hour ago, everything was black and white, but now it's not. I hate you for that."  
  
 _You're not the first person who's mattered to say that to me._  It's on the tip of his tongue as his knuckles go white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel. He reins the words in, back into his throat and his lungs. He's revealed enough about himself. He can't give them that, too.   
  
The light changes, and Viper suddenly keeps going as if they'd never said anything at all. "So. No normal hitman can pull off that trick you did with your bullets having come out from the ground. You must be that famous mafioso I've heard about."  
  
Reborn eases up the tension in his jaw before replying. "That's me. I knew your name because it's on my back. There are a few of them there. The rest are crossed out. You're the only name surviving." His shifts his fingers where they're gripping. Black and white... So that's the form their bond takes. Colorblindness until meeting their soulmate. He wonders if that had been a contribution to why they'd stood outside the car so long. "You must have worked incredibly hard on your craft to make illusions like that having only seen the world in shades of gray."  
  
There's no immediate response again. What else will they say? As it turns out, their next words don't carry the sudden venom of their prior ones when they look back to him.   
  
"What were you expecting?"  
  
What was he expecting... "They've changed based on my life's circumstances, and the changing names on my skin."   
  
Four lined up neatly in stark black along his spine, all with a line struck straight through: Adriana on the top, Pichi scrawled beneath it, Avery after that, and finally Min. Every single one of them, he remembers clearly.   
  
He still has memories of his life before, taking care of chores that his parents wouldn't do and laughing as his sister had tapped her fingers along his back wondering about his soulmate. Back then, he hadn't wondered at all. He'd been so certain about who Adriana would be: a woman beautiful for her kindness, who he'd live with in the same town as his sister, who would bear him children that he wouldn't abandon or neglect. They'd cook together and invite his sister for dinner, and it'd be prefect.   
  
Then he had made his first corpse.   
  
His sister's hatred, the line that had burned through his skin and that name- he'd deserved that. Even now, that's what he believes.  
  
Pichi had been the next name, an unknown that he had been too scared to imagine for yet desperate that he could keep a second chance for all the blood on his hands. When that name had burned out, it had been alongside his prior self, alongside "Natanaele". The lowest point in his life had welcomed in Avery's name with the morbid wish that the man would be the person to kill him, because soulmates weren't always things of "happily ever after"s.   
  
Another line through another name after four years of hoping for his macabre wish to be fulfilled. Min's name had been so short lived after that, only half that time on his skin, he barely had time to think of it in comparison to signing his contract with the Vongola and resolving to become the best.   
  
So for Viper, that fifth and recent name...  
  
"By the time your name showed up, the fifth lined down my spine, I had stopped expecting anything."  
  
The body language of the illusion doesn't match the mutter that comes out of it. "Then I suppose no expectations means there's not much of anything for me to disappoint too hard."  
  
"I'm not disappointed in you in the least." Even with their confession, that's still true. "I don't have a particular taste in bodies or appearances besides a requirement that my partners are legal and entirely consenting. I'm already impressed by your skill level and composure in the face of unexpected complications."  
  
Honestly, it's mildly galling that they aren't as impressed towards him as well. Then again, he knows he would feel similar if they were too impressed and awed. He can't have it both ways.   
  
A quiet huff is made at his words. "Contrary to popular belief, flattery doesn't get you everywhere. I  _still_  haven't forgiven you for the money I've just lost."  
  
"I don't flatter," he says simply, "I state fact. You could have stayed with the body, but you had presence of mind to track me down." A slight frown curves over his lips as they come to another light. "I am sorry our jobs over lapped, but not that I completed mine. I have a contract with the Vongola Family and your client was a fool."  
  
Viper's hands rise up to press against their face, and the illusion's fingers nudge underneath the glasses. " _Oh_  isn't that a kind way to put it." At least their frustration this time doesn't seem to be with him. "Idiot only had to stay quiet until I got him off of my hands, but he couldn't manage even  _that_. I should have killed him myself and spared you the trouble."  
  
That makes him smirk just slightly. "If you had, I would have given you the pay I'm making." He won't now, of course. It'd be an insult. "It was different to make the client entirely invisible instead of a separate member of the party. Your make-up was what gave away your position as the illusionist."  
  
There's a beat of silence as their hands drop and they look to him. Already the air is going cold. "My  _makeup_."  
  
With a tone like that, no doubt they feel like he's slighting them. Time for damage control. "Mhhmm. It was flawless. If you were actually the part you were playing, an assistant to a man like that on the run from many criminal organizations, you probably wouldn't have had the time or the steadiness of hand to look  _that_  good. Or cute and blonde as the illusion was, she would have been felt up and mussed up by that idiot." There. Hopefully enough clarification.   
  
No more venom comes from their lips. Instead, after a pause, they look away from him and back out to the window. "I'll keep that in mind then," they mutter. His own mouth twitches. Do they really understand why he's doing this?  
  
"It's be an awful thing for you to get killed because your skill is too good. Other hitmen might not bother to listen for the target first. They might just kill the illusionist. I'm sure you have your own defenses, but it's something to keep in mind." They're the first soulmate out of all the names that he's ever actually gotten a chance to  _meet_. Their continued survival is something he's invested in, now, and their reaction to his attack hints that they don't have any other defenses against something that strong.  
  
He's not exactly expecting gratitude. At the same time, he's  _certainly_  not expecting a sudden burst of power filling half of the car and prickling at the edge of one arm.   
  
When you go against illusionists enough times, you start to recognize the tell tale sensation of Mist flames. Unlike any other, there's something strange and ethereal about them that makes the hairs on his body stand up on end. Never, in his entire career, has he felt a Mist flame this potent or powerful before.   
  
"I am  _well aware_  of what people will do!" Viper hisses as they whirl on him in the small space of the car, at home and at ease with the magnitude of their power. "I'm not  _new_  to either my abilities or this business! Condescend me any further and I am  _gone_. I don't need some arrogant hitman I've only just met trying to tell me how to work!"   
  
Whatever small amount of satisfaction he gets from undeniable proof of his soulmate losing their cool, it's overruled by the fact that he hadn't meant for them to lose it this way, hadn't meant to come off as condescending. Gritting his teeth, he ignores the way Mist crawls over his sleeve and radiates his own Sun Flame in response. He's not aiming for full retaliation, but the heat of a Sun in its own solar system should be clear warning enough that he won't be intimidated by that sort of show.   
  
"I am not condescending," he grinds out. "It was a  _tip_. If you would take your head out of whatever preconceived doubts you have about me then you might notice I'm  _trying_  not to be an asshole. It's more consideration than I give anyone else. I'd appreciate not being attacked in return. You don't have to like me. For fuck's sake keep  _hating_  me if you want to, but we are connected and I do not take that lightly. So if I can tell you something about my trade that might save your life, I fucking will."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see even the illusion shaking and surely it must be with fear, surely they'll resort to the old illusionist tricks of placating and sliding away-  
  
"Trying but  _failing_ , then, have that as a  _tip_!" they sneer, their temper almost as hot as his flames as they stubbornly stick to their ground. "You can't just say you're giving me more consideration than anyone else and expect me to just  _accept_  that! How do you expect me to know!? I've only just met you, we know almost next to nothing about one another, and the only other interaction I've seen you have with another human being is when you  _shot and killed my client_."  
  
"At least I'm attempting to give you honest information about myself and see if this means anything-"  
  
"And I wouldn't attack-"  
  
"You're too busy sulking about the fact that I'm a better killer than you are a body guard-"  
  
"Or kill-"  
  
"-and worried about hiding whatever you're scared of to stop misinterpreting everything I'm saying!"   
  
"-the person driving the same car  _I'm in_ , you ass!"  
  
"How do I know you wouldn't!?" Reborn's voice is venomous, yet beneath it all... His heart is beating, and his blood is running hot. He's  _excited_. "You could be hiding anything under that illusion. And I highly doubt in your line of work you couldn't exit a moving vehicle and figure out how to walk away."  
  
They aren't just a slithering illusionist, ready to mollify him and slip away, or ignore him. Even when faced with his flame, they're yelling at him and digging their feet in as they get in his face. For all his tone shifted from poison to vague annoyance, he reflects that he's far too happy that they're talking back to him. With how energetically they've been arguing, he's almost not entirely sure how he manages to pull into the restaurant's parking lot. As he parks the car, his attention is still focused on the way Viper stares and trembles.   
  
"And you could have had anything in this car, but I still stepped inside," they snap. "You don't need illusions to hide things, do you,  _Reborn_?"  
  
For just a moment, something in the core of him flickers and tightens. "Reborn" isn't his name, but it was the one he had given them even for all his thoughts of honesty. It can't be more plainly an alias. Maybe- they're the one he's bonded to-   
  
Viper whirls away and tears off the seat belt, bursting out of the car and twisting on their heel so they can violently slam the car door shut with their foot. There's vindictiveness in the very  _sound_  of it. "Get out of the car!" they yell, their voice filling the small lot. "This was  _your_  idea, so you're carrying through no matter the end consequences!"  
  
He can't help it.   
  
Reborn bursts out laughing.   
  
He fairly crumples over the steering wheel from the force of it as he blindly turns off the ignition and tugs the key out, and he almost doesn't make it out of the car itself. From the side, he can hear Viper's heated voice yelling at him to shut up. That only makes him laugh all the more.   
  
If they'd just given him a moment more, he would have broken and told them at least his first name. Instead, they'd erupted out like a misty whirlwind of power before he could make his decision and they'd gone on to order him so boldly. Honestly, it's a bit of a novelty. Even his employers these days don't order him. They just supply him with a hit and if they want a message or a quiet murder. It says something about him that he misses such basic demands.  
  
His control is finally gained back as he locks the door and glances over to them with more of a smile than their attitude really warrants. "I never had any intention of going back on my offer." Ignoring the way they huff at him, he looks over the restaurant. It's obviously some manner of Chinese, but he catches on that it specializes in Szechuan cuisine. He hums thoughtfully as the two of them go up to the doors. "So you're definitely not Chinese, but I'd wager that you like spicy food." For someone like them, a strange mixture of childishness and professionalism, it makes sense. After everything that's happened in such a short order, no doubt they'd want something comforting at the same time that they'd rather not give away anything about themself.  
  
Viper glowers at him as the enter the establishment. "So what if I do?"  
  
Reborn's shoulders roll in an elegant shrug. "There's nothing wrong or dazzling about that. It's something you like. I'm curious about mundane things in my soul mate."   
  
At the same time that Viper bristles, he can see the host they're approaching widen his eyes at the word 'soul mate'. Neither of them have to say anything else as they're quickly escorted to a lovely little table secluded away from everything and right by the window. This place seems classy enough that, beyond this, no unnecessarily big production is likely to take place. Viper still fumes as they go to take one seat across from him.   
  
Resisting the urge to learn forward with his elbows on the table and use his unsettlingly dark eyes to their best effect- they are in public and he does have manners- Reborn leans back in his seat and surveys them for a moment. "Let's play a game," he offers. "I'll make guesses about you, and judge by your reaction whether they're accurate or not. And you can ask me any question you want and I will swear on my Will that I'll answer it honestly."  
  
There's still a frown on those lips, but it doesn't seem as severe as before. If he wanted to be optimistic, he'd call it "curious". "And what do I get if you guess wrong?" they question.   
  
"What more do you want from me? I'm already offering honest answers." He quirks an eyebrow up. "Or would you rather guess about me and get a penalty for wrong assumptions as well?"  
  
"Money would be a nice start," they answer bluntly as they look over him. "What would you put down as my penalty, then?"  
  
For that, he doesn't even need to think before he answers. "A piece of your real self for every incorrect guess you make. Of course, in return, you'll get a hundred for every wrong guess  _I_  make." He can see the waiter starting to approach, so he leans forward to murmur his next words. "If you'd rather not show me, then you can always forget the penalties and just ask me your questions."   
  
There's a thoughtfulness to them as the waiter takes their orders for drinks and appetizers: Riesling for him, jasmine tea for Viper, and dumplings for them to share. Even when the waiter leaves them, Viper doesn't exactly meet his eyes.   
  
"If  _that's_  what you want..." Their glance to him is a quick flutter of a look, brief and almost not there. "I'll have to go to their restroom. For the mirror."   
  
For a split second, he doesn't quite understand the hesitance in their voice before it clicks into place and he remembers their words from before. Right, right, black and white...  
  
"By all means. We're merely waiting on our drinks anyway, and I've got nowhere else to be anytime soon." He nods his head to them. "I take it you're agreeing to the mutual contest then?"  
  
"I'm agreeing," is the answer as they smoothly push themself up to their feet. "This won't take long."  
  
Maybe he should be concerned that they'll just disappear on him, but, watching that illusionary figure walk away from him, Reborn can't think Viper is the sort of person to do that. No doubt if that's what they wanted to do, they'd let him know loud and clear their plan of action. So for now, he doesn't mind waiting even if it takes longer than the illusionist says.   
  
He might not know exactly what they're going through, but he knows what it's like to look in a mirror and find something you didn't see before.   
  
The drinks are already set on the table by the time Viper comes back, and they're speaking the second they take a seat again. "You're a control freak."   
  
What an unexpected opening shot, and it makes him smile. They've been paying more attention to him than he thought. "By choice, not compulsion." He doesn't find anything wrong with people who require order in their lives or medication to keep that order. However, he isn't one of them. He doesn't want his soulmate to misunderstand. Control is a necessary part of him, it's true, but only in so much that it keeps him from getting arrested or being so chaotic.   
  
Watching Viper take in that free bit of information and puzzle over it is a delight to watch. It's his turn now, and he offers, "You're significantly shorter than me."   
  
Immediately, their quiet contemplation shifts as they jerk upright in their seat. "What kind of guess is that!?" they fluster. "Wh-Where would you even _get_  that!?"  
  
"Your body language gave me the idea." His grin is quick and sharp, amused. It had been a bit of a leap, but he's only ever seen smaller people flee or whirl or bluster so easily. Those with more height used it to intimidate when they were angry. Certain that his eyes are shining in entertainment, he reaches over for his glass. "Your turn."  
  
"My  _body language_." The incredulous tone in their voice almost makes him laugh again. Somehow he holds it back. It's a bit of a disappointment when their next guess turns out to be, "You're financially well off." Such a dull guess.  
  
"That's obvious." Still, it's clear their interests keep turning to money from their insistence on how he'd robbed them of their pay to their observations. "At some point in your life, you were  _not_  financially well of." If he really had to guess, he'd even say poverty stricken... But he wants to learn about them, not give them a heart attack or really chase them off.   
  
A small tinge strikes at his conscience when they stiffen, so angry and uncomfortable, and they don't even offer a retort like they've been doing-   
  
"You've chased people off before, and it's been your own fault."  
  
-except it turns out they  _do_  have a retort: their very guess.   
  
Reborn doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink, or look angry, or upset. He's spent years mastering his emotions in regards to his past, on the subjects of his sister and his subsequent fall into the underworld. There are others, he's sure, even if he doesn't remember their names, so he supposes that counts as "people" rather than "person".   
  
"Yes." For all he has his control, this is still a subject that makes him want to draw his gun. So Reborn tilts his head to the side and considers them with his dark eyes. "You're not European."   
  
It's a blatant move to get away from that particular topic, and he's half inclined to think that Viper won't go along with it. "Petty and vindictive" is a pair of traits that they happily seem comfortable with.   
  
However, there's just a shrug. "No," they answer blandly as the waiter comes back with their appetizers. Already they're snatching a dumpling away for themself to nibble on. Their other fingers tap thoughtfully along the table's edge. "You're not good with long range weaponry," they finally venture, more hesitant than confidently spiteful.   
  
The tension eases up in his shoulders, and Reborn allows a smile to flicker over his lips. It's only half because he's relieved they're going along with his direction. "I am perfectly skilled with a rifle. It's just a rather cliche assassination method." Getting something over them is worth dealing with jabs towards his past.   
  
A sharp 'tch!' leaves his dining partner as they clearly sulk about failing in their guess. Finely tuned instincts have Reborn adjust his legs, just in time to avoid the feeling of a something much harder than a slippered foot slam into his chair. Promptly, he twists so that he can look beneath the table and the air around them crackles for a different reason.   
  
If there's one thing that hasn't changed between Natanaele and Reborn, it's that neither man has ever wondered if he'd be attracted physically to the person on the other end of his own bond. Yet the lovely black boots he can see Viper now wearing are an excellent reassurance. Stylishly simple while undoubtedly finely made, the heels sensibly thick and the laces strong.   
  
"There's your piece," they grumble as he straightens up, "now get on with your next guess."   
  
He just smiles at them. "I do like your boots," he says freely. Who knows what their real reaction to such a compliment is under the illusion. He'll just have to keep playing this game with them to see if he can find out. "You're from one of the Americas." Guessing countries is the easy path while he thinks on other ones, and anyway, it's still an enormous portion of the world he could potentially rule out.   
  
Reborn is expecting more quiet fuming if he's right, but instead Viper's reaction after a second is to  _smile_  at him. " _Oh, sir, you'll disapprove when I go for an easy guess_ ," they purr, the Central Mexican dialect to their voice as thick as the mocking, " _but not the same for yourself then?_ "  
  
They can sass him even in other languages. How lovely. Reborn's grin is conceding and genuine despite his next words- Peninsular but flawless. " _Arguably the Americas are a smaller region of the world than Asia, and I made the riskier choice._ "  
  
Viper waves away his excuses, focusing instead on their next guess. " _You don't have any pets._ "  
  
Likely Reborn's smirk gives away his answer even before he vocalizes it. He can see why they'd say it. However... " _I have a reptile._ " Across the table, he sees them give a small jolt of surprise. " _In my hotel room right now, in fact._ " Paying no mind the small noise of frustration that comes from them, he goes ahead with his next guess just to make things smooth as they recover. " _You're from South America._ "  
  
" _It's a lizard, then_ ," they grumble without denying him, even as the outfit around their body starts to shift and lose its color to his eyes. He watches with interest as lavender is overtaken by shades of gray and black, multiple layers replacing the one. He could argue that it's just another illusion, something more covering than the one before... But it tells so much about them that even beneath their illusions they keep their body covered up so. It's exciting as it is frustrating, working to peel back the layers of his soulmate and only finding more. With their lips screwed up, they adjust the open layer over their first and jerk their hood up over their face. " _If you try to tell me it's a snake, no amount of money could get me to stay._ "  
  
Quietly, he gives a laugh as he takes one of the dumplings for himself. " _It's a lizard, a chameleon to be specific._ " He can't lie and say he's  _not_ sentimental. His sentiment, however, relies on remembrance and that which has already happened. Until today... There'd been no reason to in this area.  
  
There's something more, something new he wants to pursue with his guesses, but he supposes he should finish this line first. He doesn't want to startle them off, besides. They'd chosen Spanish to taunt him with, of course, yet it seems against their very nature to give out information about themself. So... Casually, with no difficulty, he switches to Portuguese as he says, " _Portuguese is your first language._ "  
  
Immediately, there's a greedy hand thrusting itself across the table and the knowledge that he's going to have to give up a hundred dollars is easily offset by the absurd  _glee_  in Viper's body as they lean over to him practically vibrating with delight. It's hard to say if it's because of their prize or because he's finally got a guess wrong himself. He suspects he's been duped. Still, fair is fair, and that  _was_  part of the terms.   
  
" _So you pegged me as someone from Brasil?_ " they tease him smugly in the same language, taking on the dialect from the country just as easily as he'd switched. When the bill is laid crisply in their hand, they unexpectedly add, " _I passed through there, but I was never from there._ " The money really must do something for their mood.   
  
Reborn hums at the extra information, tucking it away. " _There are other countries that speak Portuguese, but that is the largest by far._ " As they admire the bill and put it away in a wallet he's not entirely sure is real or not, he thinks on his next few guesses. It's delicate territory, and he wants to make sure his words come out right. For that reason, he switches to English. It's skipping over one of their turns, but he wants to catch them while they're still in a good mood like this as they pick at the dumplings again.  
  
"You're not a woman."   
  
Viper goes still. He'd known he would be treading on thin ice just with that kind of question, but this makes it literally feel like that's what he's standing on. A part of him had thought that Viper's illusion had been going along with their emotions more freely than thought. Right now, however, the look on the illusion's face is completely empty as they stare back at him. Perhaps they think, like in the car, he's being condescending at them.   
  
"No," they say, voice carefully set into neutrality, "I'm not." Then, without missing a beat- "You have anger problems."   
  
They really are incredibly observant considering he thought he'd been doing a fair job of controlling his temper. Of course they've been saving such observant guesses for whenever he pulls something that's frustrating or scares them.   
  
"Yes. I practice management for my anger." 'Natanaele' hadn't needed to, not until his sister had told him she hated him. It'd been a dam breaking- all that fury for the neglect in their life, their horrendous situation, all of it. It had poured out in a flood. On one hand, it had made him dangerous and perfect for the job he took on. On the other hand...   
  
He's wary of whatever follow up they could have up their sleeves after that, but this is important, he thinks. Even though he knows Viper must have an illusion set over them for both the conversation and to hide their own bodily change of illusions, he keeps his voice low so it can't be heard outside the table.   
  
"You're not a man, either."   
  
"...No." Perhaps he should have made it a condition that he got to choose what part of their illusion they took off. With it still in place, still so carefully neutral, it's impossible to tell what Viper is thinking. Still... It's not the immediate lash out of anger from before. He doesn't have to think hard on it for long. After a moment- "How?" Their voice is soft in uncertainty.   
  
Has anyone talked to them about it before?  
  
Reborn's not sure how to explain his train of logic to them at first. He doesn't have hyper intuition or anything like that. He just pays attention to people, and people were often incredibly similar to each other, or at least they were patterned and predictable in the ways that they were different from each other. He stalls by taking a drink of his wine and starts at the beginning.  
  
"I met some people while I was preparing for a job once." Some of them had been drag queens, but not all of them. He had needed to learn to dress and act like a woman. To not be himself but someone his opposite to get to his target. At the time he had really fallen in love with the woman who was his complete opposite, but she wasn't someone he could be all the time. He is, forever and always, himself. "I didn't understand everything they taught me, but enough to recognize that men and women aren't the only people to occupy the world."   
  
He gives a nod to them. "In the past, whether illusionists or disguise artists, I've found they've been more comfortable in one form over the other more often than not. However, you... You were equally comfortable with both of the illusions you presented to me, which made me think they were equally false representations of yourself."  
  
It's more a smile than a smirk or a grin that curves across his lips for just a brief moment. "I was guessing big, I'll admit."   
  
Viper doesn't answer him right away, in a way that hints it's for more reasons than just the eventual approach of the waiter with their meals. The spoon twirls inbetween their fingers as they seem to look down at their mapo dofu. At last, they adjust in their seat. "I find it idiotic." Their chin shifts as their gaze seems to meet his, although it's hard to tell beneath the hood. "I can change my very body to have whatever I want, whether parts or clothing. They're just as real as anything else. Why play that ridiculous nonsense where I have to be one or the other?"  
  
It's practical and bare boned, so of course there must be more to it. Still, an ember of pleasure is in his chest that they're telling him even this much. Maybe if he can ever get them to not hate him, he'll be able to learn even more about them. Smiling just slightly to himself, he picks up a fork to work on his bang bang chicken.   
  
"You like costumes."   
  
He glances up at them thoughtfully as he chews on his chicken, curious at the sudden statement. "I do. They're useful, enjoyable, and the good ones require great skill." It's his kind of hobby. They also help when he isn't particularly fond of himself. He can be someone else for a little while until he calms down. "So you still want to continue?"  
  
Viper huffs over at him. Maybe he's just being hopeful, but it doesn't seem as harsh as all the other times. "You stole one of my turns!"   
  
"So-"   
  
"And we're still not done because I haven't even come  _close_  to getting back the amount of money you've lost me. Besides, I can't imagine you're not interested in what I look like without my illusions."   
  
"Oh, I'm definitely interested. Maybe even moreso now."   
  
"Then there shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"However, I can be patient and wait for you to show me willingly later down the road instead of winning it off of you today."  
  
"Shut up and make your guess."   
  
Shoulders giving a small shake in silent laughter, Reborn chews on his chicken thoughtfully. He's still willing to keep them in a good mood at this point, even if it means resorting to what's essentially bribery, so he thinks. May as well stick with guessing countries for now. Swallowing, he gives a hum and offers, "You're from Chile."   
  
It's a completely random guess. He's not expecting the incredulous and insulted stare that comes across him at the table, and the meaning of that has him briefly light up in wild and uncontrolled joyful surprise even as they jerk up exclaiming, "How do you keep getting things  _right_!?"  
  
Immediately schooling his face back, he glances down to hide his grin. "I simply guessed. It was the first South American country I thought of after Brazil."   
  
"There are  _twelve_  of them!" Viper fumes as they reach over to try and steal the dumplings on his side of the table. Reborn nudges the plate closer with a grin. "I can't- you're unbelievable!"   
  
"And you're the one who wanted to keep playing, so come on," he laughs, happy in this moment. It's a shame he'd gotten his soulmate to hate him so quickly. "What's your next guess?"  
  
"My next guess involves words that shouldn't be spoken in public," they grumble, shoving a dumpling into their mouth. Unable to help himself, he waggles his eyebrows. It's as suggestive as it is comic.   
  
"I can wait until we're in private for you to make it."   
  
There's just silence as they stop chewing to stare at him. Their mouth doesn't open, but there's still their disgusted voice saying quietly from somewhere, "You should pay me just for listening to that atrocious come on. I can't believe you."   
  
"That wasn't a come on. Complimenting your boots was me hitting on you, couldn't you tell?" Reborn's only partially joking. He is laughing quietly again.  
  
Viper swallows, glowering at him the entire time, before they shoot out their next guess. "You didn't do any other job before becoming a hitman."   
  
That draws a strange huffed out laugh from him. "No, I had quite a few jobs before I killed someone." None of them had been particularly lucrative, certainly not like his current career, but they'd been necessary. He'd had to pay for his sister's needs on his own back then.   
  
He's curious to see what other microscopic bit of their person they show to him this time, what else they can still get away with. However, they seem to think it over before they respond, and Reborn can only stare as a quarter of their size seems to melt away. His soulmate isn't just shorter than him like he expected.   
  
" _You are **tiny**_ ," slips out of him in his native Italian, shock in every bit of him.  
  
Are they even legal? It's the first question that he wonders, with that height and that attitude, even as he's certain it would make Viper want to throttle him with their own two hands. Yet, if they are... Their size takes on entirely new context. The kind that leads his mind to thoughts of carrying that petite frame, of how they would feel tucked against him while sleeping, how he could so easily hold them up and let his fingers roam along their skin in hopes of coaxing out their voice...   
  
They're thoughts he probably shouldn't entertain while they're still so prickly, glaring at him even now, and they might be more upset at those ones than him wondering about their legality.   
  
"I  _know_  that," Viper hisses at him, bringing him back to the conversation proper.  
  
Getting his brain out of certain ideas, Reborn quickly offers another guess to try and distract their anger. "You were... under ten when you discovered you could use your power."   
  
Once more, an open and demanding hand is thrust across the table. Reborn hands over the money without protest or ceremony. When it's finally in their grasp, that's when Viper huffs, "Not exactly... but not far off." He can only give a nod. It makes sense. To be as good as they are with their deficiency- their now prior one anyway- they'd have to have started young.   
  
The two of them carry on like that for the rest of the meal, picking at their food inbetween lobbying ideas and observations at one another. For an illusionist, his soulmate is almost surprisingly honest in some ways. He confirms and learns, in time, a variety of things. For example: that they were a pickpocket once upon a time, they spent some years in the United States with a special loathing reserved for California, have no pets, and, of course, aren't particularly skilled in close combat. Of course, he's not always correct, but he can't bring himself to be particularly upset at losing money.   
  
Not when they're so ridiculously happy with every bill they take, and it would take more than this to empty out any of his bank accounts.   
  
In turn, they pick up on things about him as well. They seemed perfectly happy to observe that he's never cared for California either ("Everyone should loathe California, and everyone likes free things."), that he's "the type of weirdo who talks to his pets" to which he can only laugh, and that he practices yoga in line with his self control. They take more risks, he's pleased to find out, but that means they also lose more pieces of their little illusion. He's satisfied when they let the physical features of their face fall away to reveal something mature, so that he doesn't have to worry, and he enjoys getting to see the way their true hair falls into place to brush just slightly along their collarbone. When their hair turns brilliant indigo, he almost wants to laugh at himself.   
  
His soulmate is Mist down to even their hair. Of course. It would figure. The flame type he's always been most wary of, and it's every bit of them.   
  
Their plates get taken away, eventually, Reborn deigning not to finish his own so that he doesn't have to fly back to Italy with a heavy stomach. He watches as his soulmate watches him, their spoon teasing at the mango pudding in front of them that seemed to put them in a good mood. The two of them are almost done here, he thinks, and he knows down to the core of him that he wants to see them again. He hasn't smiled and laughed this much in ages. It leaves a bit of a bad taste in his mouth, but maybe if he can convince them to let him buy dinner again some time...   
  
"You're a masochist," they murmur suddenly, and, for the first time, one of their guesses stops him in his tracks.   
  
"Hmm." He tilts his head to the side, considering. "I suppose it depends in what context you mean it. Please be more specific."  
  
The clinking of their spoon against the porcelain plate stops. "There has to be something wrong with you for you to have sat through all of this and let it just go on for as long as it has. I'm not oblivious. I know I'm an unpleasant person. I'm greedy, selfish, self-centered, and don't plan on changing because that's exactly how I want to be. I'm not paid for any kind of sparkling personality, which suits everyone else just fine in most situations because it's business. I knew who you were in relation to me the second I saw you, but my first words to you were still not exactly kind and they haven't particularly improved the entire time we've been in each other's company. I'm pretty sure I left a dent in your car and I've spent this entire time trying to empty out at least your wallet, if not your bank account."  
  
They shovel some pudding into their mouth. "And you started laughing after I basically called you an asshole and demanded you feed me when you could have just driven off, so clearly something is wrong with you."  
  
It's the most revealing thing they've offered to him freely this entire time, whether it's true or merely how they see themself. The latter, frankly, would tell even more.   
  
"There are more than likely a  _number_  of things wrong with me," he says, his soft laugh more at himself than Viper. "None of them have anything to do with you, however. I'm wrathful, myself, and just as much of a selfish person although I'd label myself more gluttonous or lustful than greedy." His fingers lace together. "Most definitely I am self centered as well, and this  _is_  the changed me, new and improved.   
  
"I would have been much less impressed if your first words to me were kind or you fell at my feet easily. I am often disinterested in things and people who have not struggled and made their own place in the world. It's not my car, and I have more than one bank account that would be difficult to empty by charging me a hundred for every guess I've gotten wrong."  
  
He smiles again; it's hard not to around them as it turns out. Most of their points and information has been exchanged for his own, now.   
  
"You're the first person without a contract with me to manage calling me an asshole to my face without pissing themself in fear in  _years_ , and why should I mind the only person in the world with a true claim to a connection with me making demands of me? I was quite content you weren't just leaving since you decided you hated me."   
  
His head tilts. "So, yes, a masochist, but also a sadist."  
  
Viper doesn't say anything for a moment. The rest of the restaurant isn't quite so full now, and, outside, the sky is awash with the brilliant gold and deep purple intermingling.   
  
"Whatever job you take on next," the illusionist finally says, "I'm going to make sure I'm on the opposing side." He can't see their eyes, but he can see the way they move to look straight at him. "I'm not going to let you think that this encounter is the full extent of my talent or ability. Next time, you won't be able to break through my illusions until I say so."   
  
It's a direct challenge. Frankly, one of the more genuine ones he's gotten for some years now, one that could really test and push his abilities. His nerves practically hum in eagerness.   
  
"And if I still win against your illusions?"   
  
Viper's jaw sets itself. "I'll keep coming after you until you don't."   
  
They'll keep coming after him... They'll never think of any other hitmen but him, and they'll never have to deal with the threat of anyone else.   
  
They won't become another crossed out name on his skin.   
  
Reborn adjusts his fedora and smirks.   
  
"By all means."


	3. Versative

Viper stares into the mirror and can't look away.   
  
It's not the same hotel they had started the day in. It's not even the same country they began in this morning. As it turns out, even a pathetic political scumbag might still have people who are invested in if he's alive or not, and their last hotel had become compromised. It had been something they'd discovered after they'd finished up the meal with... Reborn. There had been people snooping around their hotel, easy enough to dispatch and tie up in an alleyway. For the trouble, Viper had taken the idiots' wallets. All of it- the intruders, checking out, getting on a car trip to another country just an hours drive away- had been automatic up to this point.   
  
They should just go to sleep already. They've had to process so much new information today, different from how they've lived through their entire life, and it's been the source of an unbelievably painful headache for hours now.   
  
Yet here they are: their knees balancing on the bathroom counter, their palms pressing up flat against the mirror's surface, and their eyes locked intently on their own reflection. No illusions, no masks, nothing except their bare true self.   
  
Perhaps it's narcissistic to say that they've never seen anything more fascinating or beautiful than their own eyes.   
  
There's so much to focus on in even just a plain hotel room like this. However, Viper stays where they are as they focus on the stunningly unique structure of their eyes. It's un _believable_ : the way colors are blended in the iris, the way white isn't really any kind of true white, the speckles of indigo in silver that make up their irises, how everything changes whenever their pupil contracts. They'd gone in originally just to wash their face. After an hour, Viper doesn't even remember their original task. They just explore their appearance again all over, more indepth than the paltry amount of time they'd had in the restaurant restroom.   
  
Eventually, they move on from their eyes to their skin. Everything is so  _vivid_  to their eyes. Sometimes they have to look one more time or three just so they aren't overwhelmed by  _everything_. It's the fourth time glancing over to where their hands are pressed when they catch onto the pale and subtle spread of soft greens their own veins make laced underneath their skin.  _That's_  another ten minutes gone as they stare at it all. At the restaurant, they'd held back even as their mind had wanted to race over everything, but here in the temporary safety of a hotel room... Viper loses themself.   
  
Another hour passes. The brilliant depth of purple to their hair, the way it turns nearly black when they get it wet after being struck by inspiration, they're over the moon about it. If they make an ass of themself by opening their mouth as wide as they can to explore the dark red and lush pink of their tongue, well, they're alone.  
  
There's no one else to see but them. This is their experience alone.   
  
Viper nearly vibrates right off the counter from excitement.   
  
It takes another hour for them to stop being entranced by their own body. By that point, their headache has worsened and is yelling for them to go to sleep already. To be fair, it's something they try. The bed is up in a corner, allowing them to sleep with their back to the wall, just how they like it. It should be fine in theory. Except... then Viper can't help but staring so intensely at the gorgeous colors spread along the comforter of their bed. Before they know what they're doing, Viper is letting their power slowly spread along the perfect white canvas of their pillows. A giggle escapes them, high and thrilled, and they just  _play_  with it.   
  
Everything is  _changed_  now- it's so much different than how they've worked for years now, how can they not be enchanted? They don't focus on form, only simple colors at their fingertips which spread and shift. It's ethereal and marvelous at their whim.   
  
Who knows when they fall asleep. Viper simply does, curled up and content.   
  
  
  
Well that was foolish.   
  
_Viper, you are a **professional** , for the love of whatever's beyond_ they lament as they rub at their face and wait for the painkillers to kick in. Messing around like they had last night has accomplished nothing. Well, no, not entirely true. They  _had_  made the headache  _worse_  upon waking up. Frankly, it's kind of embarrassing to have fallen into that level of absurd ridiculousness. Thank goodness they were in an isolated hotel room. The only person to witness that shameful display was themself.   
  
It takes a decent breakfast before the pain eases up, and Viper spreads their meager amount of things across the floor of their room thoughtfully. There's a part of them, burning hot and eager in their chest, that wants to go after Reborn right then and there. They've never particularly wanted to prove themself like this in their whole life, but they do now, and it's hard to brush the urge to the side. However, they can't just rush into this haphazardly. He's hardly such an easy target. The skill he'd shown when taking out their target, the sheer power he'd demonstrated when they had been arguing... No, this is going to take some  _thought_.   
  
"Vongola, hm?" they murmur to themself as they kneel down to start shuffling through their paperwork. It's impossible not to know that Family. In the dark underworld, they're like a pride of lions in the savanna. Going straight up against them is a death wish.  _Fortunately_ , a contract with a Family is quite a different thing than being a  _part_  of it. Besides, if he really cares so much about them as a soulmate...   
  
They stop the thought in its tracks, refusing to think about it. They don't have any really useful information on hand right now, so Viper dismisses the task for later. That'll be for when they get back to- Well, they can't exactly call it "home". They haven't had a home for years now. It's too risky from their point of view. It's more a temporary space where they keep their things such as research and list of contacts. Even the largest suitcase wouldn't be able to carry all their paperwork sensibly. 'Headquarters' sounds more appropriate, even if the actual location isn't particularly impressive. As various work papers scattered about on the floor get tidied up, Viper glances away. Their gaze lands on the little potted plant they have besides the hotel bed. Paperwhite flowers. Their thick scent fills up the room, comforting some deep inner part of them. It organizes their thoughts. They'll have to go back and go through all their contacts. This is going to be a game of information: finding out all they can about the hitman, finding his targets as close to when he learns about them himself, and figuring out just what illusions will let them  _win_. They can't do anything like that away from all their resources.   
  
Of course, they  _can_  make up plenty of ideas to test in the meantime.   
  
Viper grins over at the paperwhite.  
  
  
  
  
One extremely full notebook of research and a plane ride back home later, and Viper learns that: the Vongola's current generation is the ninth and their don is a man known as Timoteo. It's common for the don to have a close circle of six other mafioso, all with a certain flame type. Viper finds that they recognize the name "Bouche"- that'd been a name on their list from a few years ago when they'd been hunting down other illusionists to strengthen their own reputation. (It had also been a name they'd skipped over, once they realized what a nuisance it would be to deal with his Family.) Reborn, obviously, isn't the Sun Guardian. In fact, he was established with the Vongola before this current generation took over. A contract with them means that he's obliged to do their jobs above any other Family's, and ally with them against their enemies. Essentially, as much as Viper can tell, he's a dog on a very long leash in comparison to their own free roaming stray ways. They make a face to themself as they read over all their information spread along their desk.   
  
It sounds horrible to them. They can't imagine being stuck in the same situation for so long, or working so consistently for the same person.  
  
Not to mention, they can't imagine anyone could pay them their fees so consistently.  
  
It takes another week full of aggressive work for them to use their contacts and make new ones to get a better handle on the situation. It's a task they take to with an embarrassing amount of vigor in their desire to face off against him again. Any sort of payoff is something they're not expecting for another week- maybe not until the end of the month, even.  
  
It's a surprise when one informant whistles over her drink, "Jeez, I'm not going to want to be that Kamiwhatsherface chick in the coming months."   
  
The pair of them are perched on a balcony in a scummy little Italian bar, and Viper raises up an eyebrow that appears for the moment as a bleached blond. It's their disguise for this particular informant, a woman nearly as short as them but all muscle and fat. Ametista is crude and young and, as far as she knows, just talking to an accountant from another Family looking to chat with someone not a mobster with something to prove. The grapevine she has her pretty little pierced ears pressed to is impressive and often full. Viper can't say they're enamored with her. That doesn't mean they can't appreciate what she can do. For that reason, they keep a nice thick illusion around them to hide the conversation every time.   
  
Swirling the drink in their own carelessly, Viper tilts their head to the side. "Kami? Sounds Asian." Feigning thought, they rub their chin. "Japanese, maybe?"  
  
"Yeah, something like that." Ametista waves her hand easily. "The Undici Family's boss, you know that guy, right? I guess he took a trip out of country, met her, got infatuated, blah blah blah, but guess what?" She leans in, all callous glee. "Turns out she's a huge  _bitch_!"  
  
Viper snorts. It's not even a fake one. "If she's dating in the mafia, isn't that normal?"  
  
"Oh no no no no," Ametista sniggers thickly. "She's way worse than usual. She's practically taken over the Unidici- the Don is being a little bit of a coward hiding away I guess- and is acting like the world's her oyster. She doesn't care  _who_  gets in her way. Of course, when one of those happens to be the Vongola..."  
  
Ears practically twitching like a cat's, Viper gives a whistle. "She's gotten in trouble with the Vongola?"  
  
"Oh yeah." She knocks back the rest of her drink and shakes her head. "Tried to send some folks to intimidate her, but I hear that  _they're_  the ones who ended up regretting it. At this rate, they're going to send that scary hitman of theirs."   
  
Beneath their illusion of a sympathetic tsk, Viper smiles. That scary hitman of the Vongola's, huh...?   
  
  
  
  
The Unidici's woman, as it turns out, is named Kami _shiro_  and Viper's immediate thought upon first meeting her is the pair of them could be siblings.   
  
Not just because of the shared indigo that makes up her beautiful wavy hair as it flutters through the air when the woman flops back into an absurdly opulent velvet chair. That's a surface similarity, although something that Viper is almost certain connects both of them to Mist. No, what really connects them is something much more in the core of them. Even if they'd never done research on the woman sitting in front of them, Viper is sure they could identify it right off the bat.   
  
Together they are greedy as sin.  
  
"So you're the enigmatic Viper." She gives a giggly kind of laugh, sugary sweet. Viper imagines it's to hide all her venom inside her veins. "You know, I imagined you would be taller."   
  
_Did I **ask**  you?_ They're a professional. Professionals don't tell their clients to fuck off. Instead, they keep their cool. "You're free to imagine otherwise, if you like. Illusionists aren't people you trust the surface level of anyway. In comparison, it seems like your problems with the Vongola are rather plain in sight, isn't that right?"  
  
Instead of anymore toying giggles, there's an annoyed sigh. "What a bother... Just like back in Japan, it seems the men here get too worked up by the most trifling things. Are you offering to do some of that assassination work I've heard you do sometimes, Mamushi-chan?"  
  
"I don't have a death wish," Viper responds dryly. It's one thing to fuck with the Vongola like this. If they're a proper Mafia family like it's said, they'll understand the lack of loyalty in freelancers. Going straight up against them would be a foolish idea even if Viper wasn't trying to use this little event for something else. "I'm more interested in the protection side of this business right now. After all, Miss Kamishiro, you just need to survive long enough to get your business done in Italy before you run off to another country. Just like in Japan, right?"  
  
Just a little bit of satisfaction curls in their chest at the way her red eyes sharpen. It's completely at odds with her tone. "Oh? So it looks like Mamushi-chan has been doing research."   
  
A smirk flits across their lips. "I just like to know who I'm working for, like any normal person."   
  
"Ah ah ah, some might call that nosy." Smirking, Kamishiro gives a lazy stretch of her arms. "Still, you're right. This Family is really weak and pathetic when you get down to it... No ability at all. Having someone with actual skill might be nice. So let's talk about payment. I hear your prices are pretty high, Mamushi-chan."  
  
"For this job-"  
  
"How about anything you like from the Undici vault?" Her smile shines like a knife's edge. "I don't really have any interest in the baubles they have here, so you're free to help yourself to the nice things, Mamushi-chan."  
  
It's a tempting offer. Viper makes sure to ask, "Is there anything still  _in_  the vault?"  
  
Kamishiro gives a soft laugh even as she pushes herself up. "Why don't I show you? It can be the start of a nice household tour so that my new security knows all about everything. And don't worry about Don Undici... I've taken care of him."   
  
Well.   
  
It looks like they're starting a new job.   
  
  
  
  
The Undici family might not be one of the most  _powerful_ , even with their connection to the Vongola family as controlling a small but vital port area, but Viper has to admit the estate is a nice size. It's a beautiful classic kind of Italian mansion, and Kamishiro gives them their own spacious room they automatically don't trust. Out of principle, really. They take a nice whole day to sort through their room to clear out anything particularly annoying lurking about: secret passages, peepholes, spying devices. One can never be too careful with employers like this.  
  
It's something the  _rest_  of the Unidici seem to understand as well. It's apparent to Viper from the get-go. For all that Kamishiro is a beautiful kind of woman, they see more tension and fear in the gazes of her underlings than any sort of admiration or attraction. Viper never asks what happened to the original don. It only takes a few days to get a front row seat at Kamishiro's invitation to see how she handles a butcher knife and a suspected traitor to the Undici for them to get a decent idea.   
  
There's no doubt it's meant to send some sort of message. Viper hopes her disappointment is pretty great when their reaction is to check the clock in utter boredom.   
  
They've seen far worse.   
  
After that little demonstration, things smooth over and Kamishiro seems pleased if not at least a little amused. Viper familiarizes themself with the estate and spends some nights talking in-depth about the plans for Kamishiro's exit. Unlike the poor bastard that was their last client, she's a bit more interested in being flexible. They come to an agreement surprisingly well.   
  
That just leaves their research.   
  
"You know, Mamushi-chan, there's something intoxicating about being around you when you have such beautiful flowers prospering in your room." Kamishiro says that one day when Viper comes back from an errand with dirt dug into the soles of their shoes and beneath their nails. "Narcissus flowers?"  
  
"Something to drown out the smell of blood," they answer bluntly, lying through their teeth and certain the other woman knows it. Yet why give information to a person like this? "I just got back from setting up some security, so you'll excuse me if I take a break and shower."  
  
Which they do, of course. Physical work is so annoying, after all.   
  
Afterwards is different.   
  
"Let me do my job," they grumble to themself as they send their Mist flames from their body outwards, making sure there's no trouble. Their trade secrets are meant to  _stay_  secrets. "Can you really have taunted me for being nosy when you're just as bad?" Fortunately, Kamishiro isn't the type of person experienced in Mist like they are. There's no worry about having their illusion broken through. Secure in the power thrumming through the air and skipping across the flower petals, Viper retrieves a single simple plate from their case.   
  
It's a troublesome technique that will have to constantly be replenished, and they're not even sure it will work anyway... But it's their best chance at keeping an eye on him.   
  
Taking a deep breath, focusing the Mist inside them upwards to their eyes, Viper forces out tears.   
  
  
  
  
"Trouble's in town," they announce, a good couple of weeks since they've taken on this job. Dinner is nearly ready, but neither of them is going to be eating it.   
  
The nice thing about working for Kamishiro is she doesn't ask any asinine questions. She pushes up from her chair with a tsk and starts to stride away to her room. Everything has been prepared for days now. All that's needed is for her to change into something more suitable for a high speed getaway. "What bad timing. He's no gentleman, is he?"  
  
"No, he's a hitman," Viper says dryly as they stay on her heels with some hasty steps. "There's a difference. You know where to meet me." They don't have time to babysit her. They need to get their own things and start up the preparations.   
  
Don Undici, when he was still breathing and all his pieces were connected together, was an avid motorcycle collector. Kamishiro, in his place, has kept all of them. Who knows what the reasoning there is. Maybe she's just been too lazy to trash them. She apparently has some skill with them too. Viper is counting on it as they set things up on one bike by the time Kamishiro shows up in the expansive garage. "Oh, what's this, Mamushi-chan?"  
  
'This' is the state of one bike in particular which has paperwhite flowers enveloping it. They're curled around the handles, grasp stubbornly onto the seat, and their delicate flowerheads flowed with every change in the air current. Viper just smirks back at her as they step away from the product of their work. "I told you that we would have a double to throw off the scent of your troublemakers, right?"  
  
"I assumed there'd be actors."  
  
"Waste of money." Viper lays a finger delicately against a single petal, and lets their power hum through it. "Illusions are much cheaper."   
  
The problem, of course, had been how to extend their power. They're great- they're  _amazing_  and they'll fight anyone who says otherwise- but there are limits to their power. Multitasking while on a bike with their client, trying not to fall off, making sure their attention is on the decoy which will be who knows how far away out of sight... They don't want to slip up in front of him of all people. Fortunately, their research comes through for them all the time. The flames that run through people are  _life_ , plain and simple, and people aren't the only living things in the world. If you can find the perfect malleable conduit to carry your power for you...   
  
Two weeks of being with Kamishiro has allowed them to become amazingly familiar with every bit of her, from mannerisms to the flow of her hair. Viper is pleased but not surprised to see their illusion of her fit perfectly on the bike as the flowers seem to fade away. Next is them, an old trick they're familiar with, and Viper tries to keep their elation locked away deep inside their chest.   
  
The colors seem so much more vivid, so much deeper. They hate how excited they are, and they can't stop.   
  
Finishing everything off is the addition of illusionary luggage, and Viper nods in satisfaction. "Get ready, Miss Kamishiro." They're certain their hesitance during the last encounter was what started off the hint everything wasn't as it seemed. Viper isn't going to let it happen again. They're leaving right along with the double at the exact same time. Ideally, by the time he realizes it's a fake, it'll be too late for him to come after them.   
  
It's a plan Viper is very confident in. Their confidence drops slightly when they're actually on the bike with Kamishiro, clinging to her waist. In fact, they're suddenly not very confident at all about this part of the plan.   
  
"You  _do_  know how to drive these accurately, right?" they ask, doing their best not to sound  _completely_  unsure as they blanket them both to be invisible.   
  
"Now now, Mamushi-chan. Thrill is the spice of life." Viper doesn't really have a chance to argue against that, because that's when the garage doors slide open. Both they and the decoy go shooting out like rockets. Their words slam right through their throat at the push, and their fingers dig into Kamishiro's clothing for dear life. There goes wearing their hood; that's  _definitely_  not sticking on at the horrifying speeds they're going at. From the corner of their eye not pressed against Kamishiro's back, they can see the decoy racing alongside them.   
  
It doesn't stick around for long. It only takes for them to make it into the town proper before it's veering away, heading straight in the direction of the airport. Viper would smile at how well it's performing if they were less in danger of a heart attack. As it is, all they can do is hold onto Kamishiro tighter and remember to breathe. Everything rushes by in a blur, Kamishiro gleefully abusing the invisibility granted to her instead of doing the normal person thing of slowing down. It's enough to make the illusionist wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was a bad idea.   
  
Even with the bruising speed in which they pass everything by, the scent of saltwater still seeps its way into Viper's senses. It's the alternate route. If you can't go by air, then you go by sea, and Spain isn't that far at all when you think about it. From Spain to Britain, and perhaps Kamishiro will find some satisfaction in her new surroundings. Viper has no idea. They don't particularly plan on seeing her ever again once she gets on her boat. If it comes to it, they won't even do business in Britain for a while. It'll be fine.  
  
Soon enough, the bike starts to slow down. Miraculously, neither the luggage nor Viper has flown off. Small blessings. Kamishiro gives a delighted laugh while Viper starts to pry themself from her back. "That  _was_  fun. I had hoped that my leaving of this boring little country would have some leftover kick to it." As they pull into the docks and Kamishiro turns off the engine, she looks back to them with her crimson gaze glittering. "Thanks for providing last minute entertainment."  
  
Viper glowers as they wobble off of the bike. The illusion over everything is tugged off. "You can thank me with my final payment."  
  
More laughter is the answer. Kamishiro gives a proper reply when she's slung some of her baggage over one shoulder and hefted up a suitcase in her other hand. "Straight to the point. It's such a cute trait of yours. Well then, how about the bike." She gives a nod to it. " _I_  certainly don't care about it, and it was his pride and joy, apparently. It should fetch a nice sum if you sell it. Is that acceptable, Mamushi-chan?"  
  
Motorcycles aren't Viper's forte. Still, they know good quality when they see it. They take a quick glance over the bike in question, judge it well enough for their standards, and nod. "I suppose that'll do. Now you should go before your boat takes off without you." Even on a normal day, they'd rather not risk the payment already confirmed for them.  
  
Smirking like a devil, Kamishiro turns away and blows a kiss to the air. "Arrivederci, Mamushi-chan." She casts a lovely figure as she makes her way to boarding. Classic, practically pretty enough without a butcher knife in her hand that she'd be perfectly in place in an old black and white movie. Viper leans against the bike and watches her as she disappears into the ship, reappearing some minutes later against the railing on deck. In the unreliable lights and darkness of the night, Viper can barely make out a wave. They return it after adjusting their hood into place again.   
  
A gun shot.   
  
They watch as the figure they've been looking after crumples.   
  
It takes approximately ten minutes for Reborn to make his way to them, presumably after putting away what Viper would guess to be a rifle, and their prompt greeting to him is, "Technically, I won."   
  
In the darkness, they can see his lips curl up in faint amusement. The far off lights of the ship reflect the faintest glimmer of sweat along his throat. Then again, maybe Viper is simply hoping they do. "How did you win? She's dead."  
  
"But," Viper points out as they pat the motorcycle, "she paid me.  _I_  finished my job before  _you_  finished yours. So. I won." They smirk up at him in satisfaction. They're an easily pleased individual, they know, but with how good he is... Why not be pleased? It's their right.   
  
There's no argument from him, just a conceding nod of his head as he investigates the bike. "So you take more than just plain currency as payment for your services?"   
  
A shrug. "If it's expensive enough. Be thankful I didn't demand the clothes off of your back last time we met."   
  
Almost immediately, Viper regrets their words as Reborn flashes a smirk at them. "In public? How risque." He dodges the spiteful kick they aim towards his kneecaps. "How on earth are you going to ride this?" Another kick, another dodge, because while he didn't outright  _say_  they are embarrassingly short...   
  
Regaining their balance, Viper straightens their back. It's a trial, finding that perfect balance of 'I'm not dressed up this nice for you, I'm just the winner so I'm flaunting it'. Who cares if they made sure to dress well with a crisp cape wrapped around their shoulders and nice leather boots? You look good when you're better. That's all there is to it. It doesn't  _mean_  anything. "I'm not. You are for me, since you lost this round. You may as well put those obnoxiously long legs of yours to use."   
  
They're honestly not sure if he'll agree or not. However, suddenly, he's bending down and there's a paperwhite being tucked into the buttonhole of their cloak. "It'd be my pleasure, if I could drive it and you to dinner. A victory meal for the winner, and maybe you can tell me the process of how  _this_ works."   
  
Gently, Viper brushes the tips of their fingers against the paperwhite's petals as they think it over. It's still heady with the smell of their power. In the end, they're always a sucker for free food. That's what they tell themself. "Well, so long as you're paying."   
  
Reborn just swings his legs over the bike and waits for them to get on with him. "It goes without saying."   
  
As it turns out, Reborn is a much more skilled driver than Kamishiro. Viper's heart stays firmly in their chest where it belongs although they don't stop clinging. Beneath the scene of paperwhite, there's gunpowder. It's a strangely nice mix, as much as it should clash.  
  
It also turns out when it comes to his native Italy, although who knows if this is his native region, Reborn is considerably better at picking out places to dine at. He finds a perfect restaurant with a view of the sea and there's little trouble when it comes to getting in. Viper half wonders if he prepared this all ahead of time. He sits exactly like he had at the last meal between the two of them: at ease leaning back in his chair, dark eyes focused straight on them. They're piercing. He gives a nod to their glasses as a red wine is poured and an appetizer is set. "Montalcino. I thought you'd appreciate it over the cheaper option." They bite down on their tongue to remind themself not to smile. That is such a blatant and large part of their personality, there's nothing to smile at.   
  
"To go with the Crostini di Fegato, of course." Funny, the kinds of knowledge they've picked up over the years. "Classy."  
  
"Well, I am Italian." They scoff, his lips quirk up, and it's strange how natural it feels in the conversation. "So, how exactly  _does_  one entwine their own flames with something like a plant?"  
  
Honestly, they have half a mind not to tell him. Trade secret, and all. And yet... They want to boast. To make him acknowledge their skill and cleverness. In the end, they can't help it. They smirk at him after a sip of wine. "They're living things, aren't they? That's how. Someone  _coined_  the term 'dying will flame', but it's more our life force. This world is  _full_  of that, from people to animals to plantlife. You and I, we use it actively, but flora is much more passive. You can use them as a conduit." They trail off, watching him watching them, utterly interested in what they're talking about. It's a new experience. With their career... Viper doesn't talk like this with people often. They aren't hired for conversation or honesty. Forcibly, they get themself back on track. "If you know what you're doing anyway."   
  
"If flora is anywhere near humans, then surely each one would be unique. Sounds like a nightmare to figure out what will work with you."  
  
"Hmm, that's the difference between us and them. Individually, we can be unique, but plants tend to generally share a connection to a specific flame depending on their genus..."   
  
The two of them talk for hours on the subject. From antipasto to dolce, it's... Viper will plainly admit they thought the first time was a fluke. It had been just a game. There'd been an excuse. Yet they talk for ages on the subject of plantlife. Reborn reflects their passion right back at them, knowledgeable enough to keep up and apparently more than at ease with questioning things to keep them talking. When they've finally finished their panforte, they look to him.   
  
"So. I won," they repeat. This late in the night, it doesn't seem to settle as warm as it did hours before.   
  
"Mm." Reborn finishes dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. It's impossible to read those dark eyes of his. "You did."   
  
Why do those words make such a strange complication in their chest? It's  _frustrating_. Things were so much simpler before this annoying hitman made his presence known in their life. Now that they've proved themself, that's it. There's no reason to see him again. Yet it's hard to  _say_  that. They're still quietly struggling in their head when he speaks up again.   
  
"I wonder if you could win the next time without my bullet finding its mark at all."   
  
Viper pauses. They try to ignore how the the suggestion beneath his tone excites them.   
  
"Is that a challenge?"   
  
"If nothing else, it's a chance for you to win another free meal."   
  
God. What an arrogant asshole. A "chance".   
  
They smirk anyway.   
  
"Well, I'll never turn down the opportunity to drain your wallet."


	4. Super Bass

As he stares down the massive and beautiful safehouse of his next hit, the smell of paperwhite flowers wafting on the breeze, Reborn smiles to himself.   
  
It's been over a year since that time at the airport in another country- where he was grabbed by the hand and felt his spine go electric. Over a year since the first challenge was made between him and his soulmate. If only fate would work with them. The fact of the matter is that it's impossible for  _all_ their jobs to intersect. Viper's name may be on his back, but money is their real true love. He's never going to win against it. What that means is them vanishing off the map until he hears about some celebrity or crime lord with a terrifyingly creative illusionist on payroll. On one hand, it's always a relief to hear that Viper still around. On the other, there's mixed feelings of disappointment that they're not still chasing after him and paranoia that he'll feel the burn of their name being crossed out like all the others before. They're never pleasant feelings.   
  
The smell of paperwhite washes them away. Not all of them, and not completely, but it's enough to settle him. It's Viper's message solely for him.   
  
He's fairly certain it's not the only thing they have in store for his arrival. From his vantage point surveying everything, his eyes sweep sharply over every bit of the tropical estate. Not a single guard is in sight. The perimeter isn't littered with holes, on the account of that it's all one big hole- anyone could waltz right in if they pleased. Even if it wasn't a place home to criminals, something so rich would still have at least some manner of security. There are numerous things it could mean. Reborn goes with the most likely: Viper's gotten an  _idea_ , and they don't want the regular hired help to get in their way. Team player the illusionist is not.   
  
That doesn't mean Reborn is any less careful as he makes his way to the building, a silent force to be reckoned with even with no visible guards. It's while he's disabling the security on a first floor window that he picks something up. It's subtle, but the fact that he can feel it at all shows how thick the Mist flames are. No doubt that Viper has the entire place awash in their power. Getting to his hit at all is going to be a mess.   
  
It'll be a challenge to get through. He can already feel the excited adrenaline in his veins.   
  
Inside is just as empty as outside. Reborn isn't fooled by the currently mundane appearance. The obnoxious tourist decorations and expensive furniture are nothing more than the wool for whatever illusionary wolf Viper is hiding. He keeps himself centered. Believing nothing while going along with everything is a tricky highwire act to keep up. At least it's one he's familiar with. Still, as he exits the room he'd come in from, he can't help noticing a fairly large plaque besides the door. It's metal, the words on it pressed outwards slightly over an arrangement of braille. Curious.   
  
Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long at all to run into the first illusion. A bit more interesting is that it's Viper's own form sitting in the large open space awaiting him at the end of the hall. He knows it's an illusion, because he knows them. They'd never reveal themself at the beginning. Maybe it's here to boast or taunt. It'd be a bit much to hope for that they're trying to seduce him, wearing a pair of high waisted shorts with a  _very_  pointed lace up the front and heeled boots that cover up their lovely legs. A year hasn't changed that aspect of their relationship, unfortunately. The closest he gets to affection is Viper's ongoing campaign against his shins.   
  
(Not that seduction would work on him. It's simply that if it were Viper, he thinks he'd rather enjoy the attempt. It goes without saying that he'd prefer the real thing instead of a fake.)  
  
"This is your favorite type of job, isn't it?" he says, tone faking casualness as he scans the room carefully from beneath his fedora. At this point, he can't even be sure this is the real structure of the safehouse. Nothing can be taken at face value... Well, besides Viper. It's only a matter of getting them to talk.  _That_  won't be hard. Getting the right information might be. "You can sit somewhere and not have to move a muscle to do your work."   
  
He changes his mind on the 'seduction' train of thought when the illusionary Viper stretches their arms up lazily over their head as they lean back into a lounge chair. It's a provocative pose. Maybe they're not going for 'seduction' so much as they're aiming for teasing him. They're too smart to be oblivious. "In this humidity? I refuse to work that way on principle." Their arms go down again, crossing over their chest as they look him over. "And yet, as always, you're dressed in a suit like a freak."  
  
"Professional."   
  
"Freak." There's that self satisfied smile he's been waiting for, curling Viper's plush lips perfectly. He really has to stop having a taste for assholes or, at least, not get so turned on about it. "There's nothing in  _this_  room, by the way. I can tell you're looking. Now, the next room... Well, let's say I've had a lot of fun with my imagination."   
  
It's a blatant prompt. In fact, it's not even his choice. When he looks back to where he's come from, the door has been wiped right out of existence. If he wasn't so used to Viper's particular brand of illusions, Reborn knows he'd be annoyed. There's still a twinge of it, beneath the surface. He can ignore it as he eyes up the only other door in the room. "Is this going to be a repeat of Serbia?"   
  
Viper's smugness is wiped from their face. "We agreed not to talk about Serbia!" they snap, bristling. " _Besides_ , I know you'll only beat most things I throw at you for a fight with annoying ease. At least, I'm not getting paid enough for the effort of making something which could beat you."  
  
It's unlikely they're lying to him on that part. When it comes to complaining about how much they  _should_  be getting, Viper is fairly upfront. Regardless, he can't find any weakpoints in the room's illusion. He's going to have to move on eventually, so he may as well do so now. Keeping his senses sharp and his mind focused firmly in reality, he opens the door.   
  
...And finds himself having to look up.   
  
"So you've made me Alice in Wonderland," he says dryly, taking in the immaculate detail that's been given to the illusion of a chair big as a small building. The entire room is a hundred times larger than it should be. This answers the unasked question of how it feels to be a mouse. His gaze flickers up to where there's movement, and of course there's Viper perched up high on the knob of a dresser. They fit on it perfectly. Another illusion. They really  _are_  having fun with this. "Does that make you the White Rabbit?"  
  
"I'm not going to put on bunny ears for you. You're the costume obsessed one, not me."  
  
"Remind me, then, to find my Playboy bunny disguise for you." It's an absentminded reply, given by the part of his mind that's always interested in riling them up. The rest of his mind is focused on his job as he makes his way around the seemingly enormous room. He hates illusions, that's not changed, but he can respect craftsmanship. Viper is a master artist with their work. Every single aspect of the room has been given such fantastical consideration, giving away the enormous amount of time they've no doubt put into studying their source material. It's that same care which makes it obvious that their Mist flames have made it all as stable as can be. There's no weak point in this illusion either.   
  
"I can keep doing this all day," the illusion of Viper hums, suddenly by him as he stops at the base of a giant desk. Even as a product of Mist flames, they're short. "I've thought of all sorts of ways to-"   
  
Pulling his gun out from his holster, Reborn concentrates his Sun flames into its bullet and fires straight through the far off wall. The sheering heat of it burns through through both the illusion and the wall it's covering. Apparently, he's also shot through Viper's words because the illusionist seems stunned speechless. It's only when he's stepping through the hole that they yell at his back, " _Dammit_ , Reborn, stop that!"   
  
He only waves, hiding his smile from them. He  _is_  on the job. He can't get too distracted.   
  
It's the same reasoning which has him put his long legs to good use as he makes his way through the halls. Everything is clearly soaked in Mist, from the floorboards to the light fixtures. That doesn't mean they're soaked in illusions, necessarily, although he wouldn't doubt a bit of misdirection has been put into play. Presumably, Viper is using it all to keep track of his movements. What's more interesting to note is what things stay the same. There's still those plaques of braille along the walls. Some are besides doors, others not. Some have additional words atop of them, others are solely a line of dots. It seems appropriate to say  _curiouser and curiouser_. Is this a planned backup to ensure their client can make an escape even in total darkness? Maybe they're hoping to throw him off...   
  
Reborn has about three minutes and a turn around a corner before he stumbles onto their next illusionary trap, suddenly deep underwater with no sign of the hallways from before. While he's firmly on the sandy floor, there's Viper floating there with their arms crossed. They're glaring. At least, he assumes they're glaring. Even with the water, their hood doesn't float away from their face and only the pout of their lips can be seen.   
  
"You know, I'm pretty sure that you're not supposed to blow right through a maze."  
  
"Not on paper. In real life, it's a perfectly legitimate strategy. Besides, that was less a 'maze', and more that you were trying to trap me in a box."   
  
"I'm going to get  _paid_  this time."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
To Viper's credit, their attempts to stonewall him at every turn are first rate attempts. They're on his back with every step, and each illusion he blows through is often soon replaced when unable to be repaired. It's a stark contrast to the kind of illusions he's had to face from them when they've been on the move. Those were never so expansive and meticulous. The reason why is obvious. There's no guards to take into account, civilians to worry about, or a time limit to outrace. It's a kingdom of their own creation where even the walls bend to their will. All their attention can be given to him.   
  
Beneath the flickers of irritation, a kernel of satisfaction is firmly lodged in his chest.   
  
Past the fourth change of illusion, Viper doesn't speak much even to brag. They stay a silent observer now that they've realized no amount of chatter is going to knock his focus off balance. So Reborn takes notice when they speak up as he's in the middle of reloading his gun. The space around them isn't truly a place, but a mass of shifting glittering crystal mirrors. Even with illusion sickness not being a concern, it's still enough to make any normal person feel ill. How fortunate he's not normal in a number of ways.   
  
"How do you know I haven't made sure that my client hasn't already been escorted from here and is somewhere safe?"  
  
"At this point, there's nowhere 'safe' for them to go." Finishing up, he eyes his shifting surroundings. Even he's a little mixed up at this point. There's only one way to solve this. "You really have to stop picking up clients that make so many enemies."  
  
A low grumbling noise preludes Viper's answer. "The only people you get hired to kill are the dimwitted morons who make so many enemies. This is  _your_ fault, don't try to blame it on me." When he fires a multishot through the floor that bursts upwards to shatter the crystal illusion in all directions, they don't even jump. "I should have done what I did in Serbia. You didn't shoot through  _that_."   
  
He doesn't answer with a retort about how they were the one who wanted to never bring up Serbia again. Something's caught his attention, past the glittering reflective shards of the illusion. Instead of moving on, he stays in place and lets Viper pull the illusion back together again. The suspicious action doesn't get past them. "What are you-?"  
  
This time, he doesn't send his bullets scattered everywhere around him. It's a concentrated spread, one big push, towards a single target. Even with Viper's thick Mist flames acting as defense, they're no match. This time it's not only illusions or a wall he's stepping through, but past a steel door blown right off its hinges. He can't say it's as neat as most hits he prefers to carry out. Viper really has made this a difficult job.   
  
And there's the illusionist in question...   
  
In here, the smell of paperwhite is at its strongest. Overwhelming, even. There's no tricks here. It's a plain office, although enormous. Viper is at the middle of it, perched as daintily on the edge of the desk as their illusion had been in the Wonderland room. There's no smiles like then. Due to the situation being as it had been, both of them hadn't had any problems 'playing' with one another. Right now? Right now is all business. It's clear in the stubborn set to his soulmate's jaw.   
  
Behind them is surely their client: a young woman with long dark hair in a straight cut whose entire head and not only her eyes jerks down towards the sound of his gun. In one hand, she's holding tightly onto the harness of a guide dog. With the other, she's clutching a violin case tightly to her chest. Reborn isn't inexperienced- not in talent or in life. He's run into delicate looking people who could melt through metal. He's shaken hands with blind mafiosos who could shoot straight through someone's heart. This girl? She's not  _either_  of those kinds of people; he can tell with a glance. Whatever happens, she's going to be relying on Viper's power and skill. She might already be, in fact. As everything up to this point has shown, things get considerably more tricky when Mist gets involved.   
  
Despite that... Perhaps there's already an illusion taking effect. Yet even for her trembling, she seems to be trying to stay brave behind Viper. It's quite a difference to the butler that's shaking in a corner behind a grand armchair, wibbling and looking as though he's two seconds away from pissing himself.   
  
Viper doesn't say anything. There's nothing to  _be_  said. The only things that are left are the flames of Mist that fill the room and his own that radiate from his body. The two of them might be soulmates, but it's never more obvious how opposite they are than when they clash. Sun and mist. His body and their mind. Which can beat the other?   
  
Reborn doesn't say anything either. He merely raises his gun.   
  
  
  
  
  
For what's probably the fourth time by now, Viper tugs their hood down around their face and gives a frustrated shout.   
  
"If you keep yelling, you're going to ruin your throat for dinner," Reborn says, sighing into his glass of wine. For any other person dining in the same area, it's no doubt an ideal spot for romance. The setting? A ritzy hotel, a balcony stories from the ground, overlooking the stunning view of a Macanese sunset. The wine? Well, Vinho Verde is far from the most expensive but it goes with anything that tries to be difficult.  
  
As usual, Viper never seems to care about any of that. When Mother Nature was constructing them in the womb, it seems the illusionist dropped the card for 'romance' in favor of being distracted by the glitter of 'avarice'. No matter the plays he's made, the only thing that's really seemed to concern them is the quality of their dinner dates. He knows he's spoiled them far too much by this point; he always treats them despite the end result. Sometimes it's a victory meal, other days it's a consolation prize to soothe their wounded pride.   
  
...Well, there was Serbia, which was... Well, neither of them talk about Serbia.   
  
Today's dinner is consolation, which would be enough to put them in a grumbling mood. Considering how their job went down, however, well he can't be surprised as they release their grip on their hood so he can see the way their lips pout. One of these days he really wants to bite them. They're too plush to look at.   
  
"I don't want to hear that from the guy who doesn't have anything to get worked up about," they grumble as caldo verde is set in front of both of them. "This worked out perfectly for you, didn't it? I walked into your hands like a chump." Taking a spoonful of their soup, Viper taps their fingers along the spoon's length. "I should have  _known_  it was the butler."   
  
"Yes," Reborn begins, more than ready to berate his soulmate for once again not doing nearly enough research into their clients. Before he can get started, Viper keeps forging ahead.   
  
"His bald thick head wore a  _wig_."  
  
It's only pure luck that neither soup or wine is in his mouth when they say that. Instead, Reborn inhales so sharply to fight back against the laugh that threatens to tumble out that he nearly chokes on his own air supply. His soulmate is the most ridiculous asshole, and he loves them every time words like that exit their mouth. "A wig," he echoes back, not because he disbelieves it having seen it the second his bullets pierced that suit, but because he's still quietly delighted.   
  
"I saw it the third day there," Viper continues on sulkily, working on their soup. "I didn't say anything, but I should have  _known_  he was up to something. You can never trust a man who's trying to cover up hair loss. Suffer with the rest of humanity, you half-baked wannabe rat."   
  
A 'half-baked wannabe rat'. It's a fitting title, Reborn supposes as he eats. The man's plan had been all about subtly arranging it so that the blame fell on the very girl he was supposed to be serving. It'd been a good play, pretending to try and protect her so diligently even though he'd plan to escape with the Stradivarius which started all of this. He even went so far as to hire Viper, no doubt assuming that they'd lose anyway to someone with the title of the world's best hitman. (His soulmate is no doubt aware of that, too. They're exceedingly clever when they want to put in the effort. The implication and insult can't  _possibly_  have escaped them. No wonder they're bristling more than usual.) If it had been any other hitman, no doubt they would have fallen for it and carried out the hit without a second thought.   
  
Unfortunately for the now deceased butler, Reborn prides himself on being so much more than that.  
  
"You would have known without seeing the wig that something was afoot-"  
  
"If I'd done some research like  _you_  so obviously did and probably told your employer about, I  _know_."   
  
"If you have my words committed to memory by now, why do you still take your jobs as though they're guaranteed to be  _honest_  with you?"  
  
"Because my problem is that I assume the best in people," they fume, right as Reborn is taking a sip of wine. The snort he makes nearly sucks his drink right up into his nostrils. "I assume they don't want to die! After all, I don't  _care_  what any of my clients actually  _do_ , whether business or in their spare time. I could work for Elizabeth Bathory and all I would ask is that she let me know when and where she bathes in the blood of the innocent so I could avoid a situation where the mess would get on my shoes! All I need is the information for my job, no lies or trying to run me around in some imbecilic scheme. That includes who is  _actually_  the target. If he'd thought for two seconds that maybe he should have a backup instead of thinking he'd be absolutely invincible in this little plan, then  _I_  could have gotten involved. I could have been ready to protect him in case, instead of focusing all my energy on that girl."   
  
"Well, I for one am glad you did," Reborn hums, wiping at his mouth and pushing the now empty bowl away. Viper's nose scrunches up over their frown.  
  
"Oh, I  _bet_  you did. It was a clear straight shot because of that, wasn't it? No  _wonder_  you didn't let me know somehow what was going on."   
  
He grins as they finish up their soup. "No, it's because we're rivals when it comes to our jobs. Or have you forgotten?" No doubt they have another biting insult on the tip of their tongue for him, but then Reborn glances over to the doors leading inside and makes a small noise of interest. Placing down their bowl, Viper follows his gaze curiously. In a crowd so thick that it's making some servers seem awkward to move forward is a group of people carrying various musical instruments. Reborn doesn't say a word, and yet Viper whips right back around to face him. Their skin has gone pale from what can be seen beneath their hood, and their mouth is twisted into the most hilarious grimace.   
  
"Reborn."   
  
"Hm?" He doesn't stop grinning.   
  
"Reborn, don't you  _dare_."   
  
"Dare what?" The band starts up, a clamorous song filling the air as they move forward. Viper looks even more comically horrified.   
  
"You know what!"   
  
"I really don't."   
  
"Dammit, Reborn-!" The band is finally nearing their table, and Viper is looking dangerously close to vaulting over the table to stuff his own hat into his throat so he'll choke. The only thing that seems to stop them is the arrival of the band...   
  
And it keeps going right past their table.   
  
He's a horrible person. It's highly probable that he's the worst person in the world. That's one of the only ways to explain the pure delight that goes through him as he watches Viper freeze up in confusion with their jaw slack. What he wouldn't do to see that hood down and what their full expression is. He'd bet anything that they have some fantastically expressive eyes that would make the bafflement on their face pure gold. If he grins, that'll probably break it. It always has in the past. So, to hide it, he turns slightly in his seat to see what's going on with that band in the first place.   
  
Their end destination is another table on the expansive dining area, where a pair of young men sit. Their expressions are almost hilarious enough to match Viper's own, especially not hampered by hoods of any sort. One of them is positively diminutive, although still possessing a few more inches than Viper even without the mess of spikey hair that covers his head, and he looks as though he might vibrate out of his chair and straight through the floor in sheer embarrassment. In contrast, his partner is both obviously a foot taller than him even as they're both seated and stoic as a rock. Yet even from this distance, Reborn can tell it's the kind of stoic that comes from having  _no idea in hell_  on how to react. With that kind of expression and what seems to be a dedicatedly trained body, he's reminded of some martial artist like Bruce Lee. It's the jittery one that leans forward, fast mouth jumbling out something that's drowned out by the sound of celebratory music. Japanese, maybe. Apologetic, absolutely.  
  
He doesn't need to eavesdrop on them in particular to get an idea of what's happening, however. The music spells it out pretty clearly. It's a Union Celebration- when you've found your soulmate (or at least one of them) and want the whole world to know you've done it. Although he imagines neither men did, considering things. Maybe they have friends who are celebrating  _for_  them. He can understand that sort of teasing fun.   
  
"You're the  _worst_."  
  
Reborn can definitely understand.   
  
"You know, I didn't say anything," he says, turning around as the waiter finally comes to their table after having been delayed by the monster of a band. Curried crab is set before both of them, the smell wafting up pleasantly. "I have no idea why you'd make the assumption that I'd so something like that." It's probably one of the most blatant lies that's ever left his mouth.   
  
"No idea, is that so?" Their pout has intensified against all odds for this moment. "Now your memory must be the one that's going bad. Or do I need to remind you of that time in England with the rose garden?"  
  
"I thought you'd appreciate the sight during lunch."   
  
"Las Vegas, the fireworks on New Years!"  
  
"Oh, you can't even  _try_  to say you didn't have a good time in Las Vegas."   
  
"That's not the point!" Viper breaks through their crab with a special kind of petty vengeance, like it's the crab's fault for anything.   
  
"So what  _is_  the point?"  
  
"That you're the worst, mainly." Yet here they are, still staying undoubtedly thanks to the crab, and Reborn sends his own wry smile down to his plate. Even if they hate him, this is the best he can ask for. Together, they work through their dinner and wait for the band to finally die down.   
  
"So how long are you going to stay in Macau, if you feel inclined to answer?" he asks, once the plates have been taken away and Viper has ordered some egg tarts for themself.   
  
"Another two weeks, give or take some days." Beneath his fedora, he raises up his eyebrows. Viper snorts at him. "Let me ask you this: the Vongola are going to send someone to collect that violin, aren't they? You killed the problem, but not the violin player- that Madoka Mozart- and she still has possession of it. However, you're not a Labrador retriever. You're a hitman. Your job is done. So. They'll send someone, right?" The tarts are laid down in front of them, and Viper plucks one up between two fingers. "She knows that. A blind half-Japanese half-Italian girl doesn't exactly cut an intimidating figure, and she doesn't know enough about the underworld to navigate it politically. So she's keeping me hired on for a little while longer, but more as an adviser."   
  
"An adviser? So she doesn't plan on giving up the Stradivarius."   
  
"She says no other one would do." Viper shrugs. "I'll figure out some way to make it work so long as she continues to pay me."  
  
"I imagine you'll be staying at that safehouse, then."   
  
"It's part of the payment, free lodgings. Obviously I'm going to accept that sort of deal."   
  
Of course. Obviously. He supposes that crosses out the tease of inviting them up to his hotel room this time around. Instead, Reborn reaches over to snatch one of their tarts away just to hear the offended noise they make. He can't prolong the dinner into eternity, unfortunately. All things come to an end. The sunset that had started with their dinner has long since faded by the time they're done, and there are few stars that can struggle past the bright lights of the city. He gets up, watching as Viper pushes themself out of their seat as well-   
  
There's a snapping sound.   
  
Viper swears, quietly, in particularly vile Cantonese.   
  
The long thin heel to one of their boots has broken right beneath them, leaving the illusionist off-balance and annoyed. They sit back down again, inspecting the damage, and Reborn goes around the table to see for himself. It's nothing impossible to fix. In fact...   
  
"I have some glue in my hotel room that could fix that," he says, keeping his voice calm as though his heart isn't brushing against the inside of his chest excitedly with each beat. For a year, he's made various teasing remarks about taking them to his room one day. They'll probably refuse, like they've snapped out at him all the times before. Despite that, he can't be content with asking for merely this much. He doesn't need them in his bed... He just wants them closer. Needs them closer. It's been him, on his own, for years now with name after name crossing itself out on his back...  
  
"Alright." They're looking up at him, the lights of the hotel and the city chasing away any darkness that would fall over them. "If you continue to insist on giving me free things, I have no problem with it."  
  
He hopes they never stop catching him off-guard like this. Keeping how pleased he is locked away under the surface, he picks up their broken heel and offers them a hand. It goes ignored, of course, as they replace the missing part of their boot with a Mist substitute. They liked being spoiled, but they're self sufficient. He supposes he'd find it a little annoying if they weren't. Reborn settles for guiding them to the elevator up to his floor, turning the heel idly inbetween his fingers. His room, when it's reached, is nearly as clean as it would be if it were entirely unoccupied. His own items are tucked away out of sight, and he stays perfectly neat even when away from his own home. The only thing out of place is the terrarium housing his chameleon, which watches as Reborn sets down the heel on top of a dresser and Viper makes themself at home immediately at the edge of his bed.   
  
"Did you get something cheap again?" he asks over his shoulder as he goes through his bags. It's going to be more expensive for them in the long run, yet they still persist. It's enough to make him shake his head.   
  
"It wasn't cheap this time!" they grumble, tugging their one good boot off with only a little bit of struggle. "It's worn a bit, and I stepped on it wrong. Quit being a judgmental prick."  
  
"I don't understand how you can like rich things so much, but refuse to spend your money."  
  
"Because money is  _good_."  
  
"Yes, but you know what it's  _for_ , don't you?"  
  
"Hoarding."   
  
Huffing out a soft laugh, he picks up the heel again and sits down besides them. With the other boot off, they hand it to him before leaning back. "Maybe you should have been called Dragon instead of Viper," Reborn says as he turns the boot in his lap. They thwap their hand along his arm in retaliation, although honestly he barely feels it. Their hits are nothing compared to the way they try to kick him.   
  
"Ha. Very cute. How long did it take for you to come up with that?" When he doesn't answer them and simply smirks, they puff up in annoyance. They're like the world's tiniest and angriest little cat. He half expects them to go up to the shelves and knock a decorative ornament over out of spite. It would suit them. He works on the boot a while longer, but perks up when Viper continues to speak after that beat of silence. "You're really annoying in when you choose to react. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"Is this about the band from earlier? I hope you know that I'd never do something like that."  
  
Viper scowls. "What happened to not being a liar?"  
  
"I wouldn't." He can't stop grinning down to the boot. They need to stop being so easy to play with. "A band would get in the way. I'd serenade you personally-"  
  
" _No_."  
  
"Ooooh, this is the night, it's a beautiful night-"  
  
"Don't you dare sing a Disney song at me!"  
  
"Oh? So something different is fine? How about-"  
  
"Reborn!"  
  
" _Affacciati alla finestra, bella mia_ -"  
  
"I'm going to shove that boot down your throat-"  
  
The boot in question, still not entirely fixed, becomes ignored as they push themself up onto their knees in a noble effort to shove him. Unfortunately, Viper is still atrocious at most physical activity that isn't malicious shin kicking. It's a simple task to set the boot to the floor where it can dry and then grab them by the wrists. Viper, being their charmingly stubborn self, sees this as cause to escalate the situation. Before he knows it, he's allowing them to kick and bite him into laying against the bed. When they pause, with his hands still around their wrists and their legs straddling his waist, he's expecting more scolding at best.   
  
Instead, there's an annoyed sigh. "And this," Viper murmurs, "is exactly what I was talking about."  
  
Reborn pulls his hands away and entwines his fingers behind his head. Ah ha. "So you  _were_  trying to seduce me with that outfit."   
  
"You're giving yourself too much credit." They don't get off of him, but straighten up and cross their arms with a frown. "I wanted to get under your skin for once. Yet you're as impossible as always..."  
  
"Well, if you want a reaction..." He can't help it. It's too good a chance for him to ignore. Pulling out one hand from its place, he lets it rest slightly by their calf. Not touching, not yet, but close enough that it would't take much at all to get there. "I can think of another way to do it."   
  
They're going to try and kill him again for that, probably. To his surprise, however, they don't go straight for his throat. Instead, they stare down at him quietly. Or maybe they're not staring at him at all. That annoying hood is still obscuring their eyes. It always makes it hard to tell what they're really thinking, even with illusions not part of the equation at all. "You're ridiculous," they say at last.   
  
"You've known that for a year now." Carefully, he brushes his fingers against their skin. They haven't said yes or no one way or another, but he can't resist testing the waters.   
  
Their hand goes down to his. He's half expecting to be pushed away, but instead their fingers demandingly tug him up. "Do better to seduce  _me_ , you ass. Is this really the best you can do when you have a reputation as a fantastic lover?"  
  
Sitting up, he settles both his hands along their sides. It seems to be a good neutral zone so far. He grins with his lips so close to their face even as he asks, "So you've heard of that?"  
  
"It was hard not to hearing about it when I was looking into you." Tilting their head back, they huff along his chin. Their hands slip away from their arms, and creep up along his shoulders. "People's sex lives are the most favorite kind of gossip, especially when there's no word about their soulmate."  
  
"Mmm, I had a lot of time while waiting for you..." A lot of time where he'd given up, where he'd taken each crossed out name as a punishment for his actions, so why not take on partner after partner in bed? No one would take it seriously at the end of the day, with all of them still waiting for the appearance of their own soulmate. He could stay free and detached.  
  
It doesn't matter anymore. Right now, here in the present, he has his own soulmate finally close allowing him to brush his lips along their chin as they steal their hands beneath his jacket. He's never had sex naked, but for them he'll let Viper push his jacket down from his shoulders. One hand ghosts up their front, not really pressing down at all, until he can gently take the opening of their hood inbetween two fingers. There's a question in the touch, the same one that's on the tip of his tongue, but Viper's hands find his fedora. With a snap of their wrist, they send it flying towards the floor. At his noise of discontent, they laugh.   
  
"Oh, shut up. Now you can't hide beneath that cliche hat anymore."   
  
"Are you really one to talk?" Still, he's smiling. It's an unsaid answer, permission given silently. He peels back their hood with no more trepidation. Those sharp markings he's seen only the tips of on their cheeks seem to go further up, creating simple triangles against their skin. He kisses one, half to hear the indignant sound that pops out from their throat, half to see how the same feeling is reflected in their eyes. They're exactly as expressive as he's always suspected. From here, it's easy to move onto the next bit of confirmation: sliding his lips along theirs.   
  
He's been wanting to kiss them for ages, now, ever since he first peeled away the illusion they'd covered themself in over dinner in a little Chinese restaurant and gotten to see how soft they truly were. Every pout, every delighted grin or countered sulking frown, their lips pull off wonderfully.  
  
This goes for kissing, too, it seems. They're soft and pliant against his lips, and not a single person he's ever kissed before has made that raging heat light up along his spine like they do. They practically set him ablaze and he only wants to thank them before he falls apart into ashes. After all, this? All of this? It's the kind of death he'd choose, and there's nothing sweeter, not even the faint taste of creme that still lingers on their mouth.   
  
It'd be easy to get trapped in kissing them, feeling Viper's body slowly press against his and listen as the rest of the world fades away. When they suddenly bite down, a sharp jolt of pain bursting from his lip, it's even harder to give up with how much he moans against their mouth. It's Viper who pulls away, a breathless whisper of, " _Masochist_."   
  
He huffs out a soft laugh. "Guilty as charged," he murmurs against their throat, nudging their hair back with his nose. His hand is still lingering on the other side of their neck, knuckles brushing along their jaw. They return the gesture with their fingers tightening in his hair, tugging harshly and making him shudder. However, he always wants more. "I want to touch you..." He strokes along their side with his thumb still against their body. "Anywhere that I can't...?"  
  
Paying him back for all the horribleness he's done in the evening, Viper grinds down straight against his hips to cut him off. "I'd tell you if there was." They nip against his ear. "Just touch me already, before I die of boredom." Reborn laughs.   
  
With no hesitation, he brings his hand down to their zipper. The sound of it as he pulls it down their chest is pure temptation itself. Despite that, he only draws it down halfway before pausing to slide his fingers through the gap. Their body, past all the clothing, is soft and plump to his touch. They're a complete non-combatant in every way, so different to his own highly honed body. His palm curves over the plumpness of their stomach. The truly surprising thing, however, is when his hand shifts and he feels his thumb brushes against a bare breast.   
  
It's not the shape of their chest which surprises him. "You're not wearing a bra?"  
  
When he glances up, they're pouting again. "It's hot and humid."  
  
The pout intensifies at his chuckle. "Are you sure you're not trying to seduce me more?"  
  
"More like I'm the only one prepared here." Their hands tug at his shirt. "Look at you! You're dressed like you're going to a formal party, not like you're about to have sex."  
  
"I got done having dinner with you. I think that would count." Regardless, he starts to undo his belt while Viper impatiently works at his tie and shirt. Each brush of their fingertips against his skin makes a rush electrify his body. Is it because of their bond, or because of how excited he is? This is his soulmate, this is the first time he'll have disrobed so much for any partner...  
  
He kisses them again, his belt crumpling into a heap on the floor as they pull all his layers down to the bed. Viper's body may not be that of a combatant, but their fingers are cleverer than sin as they glide against his lean body. They're experienced. Smart. It shows in the way they touch him, intent as they search out the sensitive areas to his body. They're by no means a passive lover. A little clumsy from disuse, maybe, but they're as demanding as they've been every other time he's interacted with them before. They kiss, and stroke, and shove him further back until he's flat up against the bed. He lets it all happen in exchange for ridding their body of their own top. It's going to be a mess, come morning, with their clothes strung everywhere.   
  
But he'll deal with it then.   
  
It's more a sudden flicker of curiosity than anything that has him dig his hands into their ass so he can flip their positions. "No fighting that?" he asks when he breaks the kiss this time, feeling his cock press against the inside of his pants and between their legs that wrap around him.   
  
Viper scoffs. Their hand is already between his body and theirs, fingers pulling at his pants. "That would mean work. You're the one with ridiculous amounts of stamina, not me."   
  
"So you're being lazy." Despite their own arms being in the way, Reborn reaches down to undo their own shorts. They're more complicated than his pants, but he still manages to tug them down first. Viper smacks their heel down against his lower back before wiggling to help get them off their hips.   
  
"I worked hard today."  
  
"No physical work," he teases, his hands brushing against their own as he pulls down his own pants.   
  
"This was already a mistake, I can tell." For all their complaining, however, they don't protest when he kisses them again. Judging by the way they dig their nails into the back of his neck, quite the opposite. Their body fits perfectly in the palms of his hands, and it's this way that he can tell...   
  
"Is this really fine with you?" he asks, one hand following the flow of their hips while the other stays up running a thumb over one nipple. For the first time since they've entered his room, Viper looks uncertain. Although... Perhaps it's not the first time. Perhaps it's because he can see the caution naked in their eyes and the way their brow furrows.   
  
"You're the one who said you'd never want to think a falsehood was my body, weren't you?"  
  
More than a year ago, in the cramped confines of a car, wary of one another and wary of what it all would mean for the future...   
  
"It would be different for something like this," he says softly, lips tracing their pulse point. He's a murderer, a bit of a sadist, and, he'll freely admit, a bit of a dick. However, he would never make his soulmate uncomfortable in their own skin if something could be done to avoid it.   
  
Showing that romantic side of them again, Viper smacks his back and grumbles. "Go back to being a prick. I don't mind being this way, for right now at least. It  _is_  around half right anyway in my case. Just..." They take one of his hands by the wrist, guiding it down between their legs. "There. Go in that hole, not the other one."  
  
Ah. So even with them saying that, there's still-   
  
"Your stupid cock won't fit otherwise."   
  
A sharp bark of laughter escapes him before he can stop himself, and he has to pull back to get his bearings again. Viper is glaring down, indeed, right at his dick as though it's personally affronted them with its very existence. A priest whose sermon has been interrupted by a hard metal band couldn't look more offended. It's not an expression that often gets sent towards his genitals. To the rest of him, sure, that's  _expected_. "My cock would fit, I promise," he says, his voice shaking as he holds back more laughter.   
  
"No it wouldn't! Look at it!" They push up, and he rocks back onto his knees as well. With space between their bodies, Viper makes a vague agitated gesture at his dick. "It's too  _long_! And it does this weird- curving thing, why is it  _curved_?" They make a sharp pap at his erection, and the way it waggles draws the most amusing and indignant noise from them.   
  
This is it. This is how he is going to die. He's going to pass from the world from laughing too much at his soulmate's criticism of his penis. As it is, Reborn does  _try_  to hold it back as he bites down on his lip and bows his head against their shoulder. There's no fighting the way his body trembles from silent laughter. It's impossible, even for him. "I'm telling you," he finally gets out, "it would fit. I'd have to stretch you out with my fingers first, that's all."   
  
"Vaginas aren't meant to be  _stretched_."  
  
"That's  _exactly_  what they're meant to do!" he wheezes out. Thank god Viper is right there for him to hold onto, the only bit of stability as he finally convulses with laughter. They don't let him do it consequence-free; their hands thwack at his back frustratedly until he can get his breath back enough to add, "Most of the time, anyway."  
  
"No." Jaw set stubbornly, they glower at him. "Anal or nothing. That's that."   
  
Well, he can't argue there. He presses another kiss to their lips and strokes his knuckles along one marked cheek. "Alright, I understand." He straightens up, ready to go through his things again, but Viper tugs at his arm.   
  
"It's fine, I got it." They give an idle flick of their hand, a shadow figure given three dimensions manifesting. The hitman part of his mind, the one that's engraved into his bones now, can't help but become wary. There's no need to be concerned; the figure simply searches for lube in his things before tossing it over to the bed. He catches it before Viper does, but they still manage to see the title. "The name of the lube is  _Gun Oil_?" Reborn laughs and they smack his shoulder again. "You ridiculous scumbag!"  
  
"Yes, yes, now lay back." With a gentle hand, he presses them back against the bed. They go along with it, eyes watching him so very carefully, and he can't help but admire the way their hair spreads across the pillow in that deep violet. Setting the lube to the side, he slides his hands along their body once more. His fingers brush against the light fuzz of hair that's spread before their sex. "I'm going to tease you, help your body relax more," he murmurs into their throat before he kisses it.  
  
"You tease me every minute every time we meet up."   
  
Reborn's lips curl in a grin. "Different kind of teasing," he promises as his fingers dip between Viper's legs. Maybe it's a good thing he's had sex with so many others before. Instead of awkward virginal fumbling, he knows exactly how to please others and drag their bodies into ecstasy. It's only a matter of finding the perfect way for his soulmate, now. It's not difficult, not with how incredibly honest Viper is even down to their very bones despite the Mist they wrap around themself. It's in the way their thighs twitch when he slides his fingers along their sex, how their tense fingers jerk against the back of his neck when he brushes against the folds of them. Their body alone tells him so much even though they stay quiet, teeth biting down on their lower lip.   
  
He doesn't press them. For so long he's been waiting for his soulmate, and Reborn isn't going to waste this opportunity by rushing straight through. He savors the moment from the taste of their skin to the sharp intakes of breath they make whenever his fingers brush against a particularly pleasant spot. His rewards aren't vocal, no moans or whimpers, but the way they dig their fingers dig into his hair and their legs squeeze against his sides. Even if only in this moment, he's the center of their world. It makes his heart want to implode into itself.   
  
When his fingers stop toying with their clit to slip inside, he's greeted by slickness and heat. It's an excellent sign. An even better one is when he slips his fingers out after a moment of toying and his reward is Viper tugging at his hair with a grumble. Reborn chuckles even as he slyly takes the lube in hand. "I thought you didn't want anything in there?"  
  
They tug him up further to bite at his lips again. Is this a habit of theirs? He hopes it is. "That was for your cock.  _Fingers_  are a different matter entirely, and you know it."   
  
Since he has them so close, Reborn doesn't hesitate in kissing them again while he coats his fingers in lube. In contrast to before, they kiss lazy and sweet this time. It's relaxed and comfortable, yet there's still a low thrumming heat in his back. It's perfect. The strangled noise they make when his fingers slide into their ass adds to it.   
  
"You do that just to listen to what I do, don't you?" they accuse sulkily, hitting his back again.  
  
"Guilty as charged," he admits shamelessly, pecking one more kiss to their lips. Most of his concentration is on slowly pumping his fingers in and out, making sure there's no wince or frown that crosses his partner's face. For everything else he's ever done in his life, he's made sure to be the best. It's the same goal for this- maybe even moreso, with how much he treasures this chance he's gotten.   
  
They squirm with every movement of his fingers, but talking and kissing seem to alleviate it a bit. He can't argue with that kind of solution, sucking along their lips and sliding his tongue against theirs. Finally, with a tentative satisfaction, he pulls out to reach for the lube again.   
  
"Ready?" he murmurs against their ear.  
  
"You worry so much," they answer, despite their kneading fingers at his scalp showing their own uncertainty. "We're fine, just... Hurry up and lube up before I change my mind."  
  
Reborn reassures them with more kisses layered down to their collarbone and up the curve of their breast to one tan nipple. Not a single bit of skin goes untouched. When his cock is finally wet with lube, he starts to shift their two bodies. There's only the faintest of discontent murmurings when he starts to hitch their legs up over his shoulders, and he suspects it's more being forced to move at all than anything to do with the position. At least, he suspects it when he pauses out of concern and they smack one heel down against his shoulder.   
  
"I told you I'd let you know if I wasn't pleased, didn't I?" Viper grumbles as their hands leave his hair, tangling in the sheets beneath them instead. "Have I ever kept quiet when I've been unhappy about things?"  
  
That makes him smile. "Fair enough point," he agrees, bending his own flexible body so he can kiss them again. He can't get enough of their mouth. It's practically sin incarnate. Kissing can happen anytime, however. With their consent still solid, he moves one of his hands to help stretch them open and presses in.   
  
His breath is stolen away with how  _tight_  they are. Reborn stretched them out beforehand, he knows they did, but their small body squeezes against him from all directions like a vice. All he can do is get the head of his cock inside them before he forces himself to pause, his fingers wrapped tight around their calves and his head bowed down. Like this, with how they feel and the scent of paperwhites still clinging to their body, he feels smothered. He breathes in deep, opening his eyes to look over them too.   
  
With a glance, he can tell it's an experience for Viper as well. Their trembling fingers are clenched tight against the pillow and the sheets, and his partner's eyes are squeezed shut. There's a quiver with each breath they take, as if they're desperately trying to hold something back inside their throat. They only open their eyes when he reaches down to take one of their hands and lace his fingers among theirs, slivers of silver staring up at him.   
  
"Are you alright?" It's a quiet, hoarse whisper.  
  
"This  _definitely_  wouldn't fit in that stupid other hole," they hiss at him.   
  
While inside their ass is probably a bad time to laugh, but he does- a huffed out airy sound before he presses in deeper until they make a quiet noise and dig their nails into his knuckles. That's where he stops, taking in deep breaths as they both adjust to one another's bodies. Explaining the sensation wracking his very core is impossible. It's not only the sex. He knows how that feels. Sex has never before made his heart feel as if it's about to crash through his ribs and out of his chest, on white hot fire the entire way. Is this part of the bond? Is it merely emotions that have never gotten a chance to surface breaching through like a bomb? Maybe it's the trust- Viper letting him have this, baring themself to him in more ways than one, and the gesture of it alone...   
  
He squeezes their hand as he starts to pull out slowly, putting his sizable control to the test in resisting the urge to thrust in without restraint. This is something both of them need, in some way or another. He goes slowly at first, reaching in as deep as their body will let him go only to pull back out in very much the same pace. Balancing this position against his hips is difficult but doable, leaving him another hand free. It's a good thing he's so flexible. There's little trouble in sliding his fingers down the inside of their thigh... before igniting his Sun flames at the very tips.   
  
Immediately a cry tears out of Viper's throat and they buck their hips, taking him in further so fast that he bites back a curse. Their nails dig in so deep that they'll no doubt leave marks. Reborn already knows he won't heal those ones with his flame. "You cheating ass," Viper pants out, cheeks flushed deep and a brilliant contrast to the markings there. "You're... the  _worst_."   
  
There's no use denying it, not when he can draw out their moans at long last as his thrusts gradually pick up speed. He keeps them shallow and quick, enraptured by pleasure as they squeeze and grind against him right back. The time for banter passes quickly, leaving only the feeling shared as hard breath and low moans fill the room. He loses himself in it all. It's too  _easy_  to lose himself. It's only Viper, the bed, and, at the far borders of his awareness, the rest of his room.   
  
Beneath the slick sounds of his body pushing into theirs, beneath the heat from their bodies and his flame, he distantly thinks of the Union Celebration from dinner. In this present, the idea of it is something to almost scoff at.  _That_  hadn't been any sort of union- all awkwardness, no agreement to the mess on either side, public and flashy and not a shred of intimacy.   
  
This... This is union. Not merely in the physical sense, even if there's no way the two of them could be any closer in body besides this. It's the two of them, in sync, in agreement, welcoming one another to the most vulnerable states they can give.   
  
Viper: on their back, clinging to him for stability, body laid bare with no clothing or illusions for his touch.   
  
Himself: so much control lost in exchange for the moment, his focus on nothing but them, the painful list of names on his back exposed to air for the first time in years.  
  
He's not sure how many times Viper orgasms. Apparently, like so much, they keep that sort of thing hidden away even with the tight grip of their hand with his. Yet in the end, when he finally climaxes with his body curled into theirs and his forehead against their chest, the breath they let out seems satisfied. For a moment, Reborn simply stays as he is and enjoys a feeling of warm serenity that's been absent for longer than he prefers to think about. If he could stay in the sensation for hours, he would. Life doesn't work that way, unfortunately, and that knowledge has him pull out from the stickiness. It'll bother him, later. Right now, he's happy to sink into the space besides Viper. He thought any sort of hapless romantic aspect died with his previous self. Apparently, that's a lie, or maybe 'Reborn' still hasn't permeated just yet, because his heart tightens when Viper curls into his side.   
  
This could be alright, couldn't it? He reflects on the idea as he stares up at the ceiling through half lidded eyes, his fingers idly toying in Viper's hair. It's more than he ever thought he would get for ages, now. They let him in, gave him some sort of intimacy. Even if it's only once, this moment is enough.   
  
This could be alright.   
  
"There's lube and cum still in my ass."   
  
Definitely alright. Reborn is glad for their positions, because it means Viper can't see how widely he's grinning. Here he is, thinking about life and their bonds and romance, and they're bringing up the state of their asshole. Then again, it's a good point. All the adrenaline and hormones are starting to fade away a little bit on his end as well, and he can't  _stand_  the stickiness coating his cock.   
  
"By all means, feel free to use the bathroom." He removes his hand from their hair to make a lazy gesture towards the door.   
  
"I'm going to take  _forever_."   
  
"Then I'll waltz in on you and join you in the shower to take care of myself." Judging by the offended grumble they make, he's won this round, and Reborn makes no effort to hide his smirk as they slide out from his side to scurry to the bathroom door. With them gone from his side, there's little reason to bask in the aftermath any longer. A pity. Getting up, he cleans himself off best he can with a nearby box of tissues and then goes to get his sleeping clothes. It's been too long; he feels exposed now.   
  
He's shrugged on a shirt when the bathroom door creaks open a crack and a shadow person comes over again... Promptly stealing one of his button up shirts. He follows after it as it disappears with its gain into the room. As he stops in front of the door, Viper peeks out with their usual pout. Reborn wastes no time in asking, amused, "Did you steal my clothes?"  
  
"I'm borrowing a  _single_  shirt."   
  
"Why?"  
  
"I need something to wear for bed, obviously."  
  
"Does that mean you're staying?"  
  
"I'm not going to waltz out of here after getting worn out by sex, you hooligan."   
  
"I thought you hated me enough not to have any desire to do something like that." It's a soft spoken point, a question a part of him isn't sure he wants to ask, and he watches Viper carefully. Their eyes flick away from meeting his gaze even though there's not one change otherwise- the things that hood has hidden from him for a year.   
  
Viper's fingers rap against the doorway. "I haven't hated you since the first time we had dinner together," they admit quietly, hesitant. Reborn blinks in surprise, because that's not what he was expecting at  _all_. Some small thing must show on his face, because Viper puffs up a little. "I really tried to! And I wasn't lying when I said that to you, in the car. You'd killed my client, you were already inferring so much about me, and all the  _work_  I'd put into managing my illusions... All those years of figuring out what other people always had, and then you just-" A sharp upset gesture, and then Viper lets their fingers curl around the doorway again as they press their head against them a little. "Give it to me. Just like that. Just because you existed." Their gaze darkens, and he knows that familiar frustrated curl to their lips.   
  
"You'll never understand how important my power is to me. I wanted to leave that car because I wanted nothing to do with you." For a flickering moment, their eyes look back up to him. "...But I said that in the moment. I actually... liked talking with you. I thought it was some fluke, but it wasn't. Even when you're being an insufferable ass, talking with you is still more fun than I usually get in this stupid business.   
  
"Which doesn't mean I  _love_  you," they add hastily, shoulders hunching up. "But I like you. I definitely don't hate you."  
  
Whatever they're expecting, it's probably not the way he reaches through the door's opening to grab them by the shoulder and pull them in for another deep kiss. There's a muffled something against his lips, but he ignores it in favor of sliding his hand down the front of their body where they haven't yet buttoned up the stolen shirt. It's hard to miss the fact that their chest is now much flatter, although still soft. He doesn't mention it. That'd be impossible anyway with his mouth sliding against theirs, and he doesn't care either. Reborn focuses on drawing his fingers down between their legs.   
  
Their attempts at grumbling dissolve into moans.   
  
  
  
  
  
Viper flings a piece of toast at his head, and Reborn grabs it with a wry grin.   
  
That doesn't discourage them. Not even slightly. They grab an apple next from the breakfast tray and glower at him. "You," they begin, "are a ridiculous jackass of the highest degree. Did you get a degree for that?"  
  
"I did," he says, keeping a straight face and watching as they puff up. Again- the perfect cat in a human body. Maybe it was one of their past lives. "I studied long and hard for my degree in jackassery, thank you." Aaaand there's the apple, aiming much more conservatively towards his shoulder. Setting his toast on the plate, he grabs that, too.   
  
Giving up on hitting him for now, Viper huffs and turns back to piling their own breakfast plate. Morning room service is a wonderful thing, especially in a five star hotel. He won't be eating too heavily, considering his flight later in the day, but Viper has no such reservations. He didn't know they were a waffle person, but there certainly is a stunning amount of waffles on their plate already.   
  
"You realize I planned on staying the night  _anyway_ , didn't you?" they mutter, scarce with their butter and syrup. "You didn't have to eat me out into an honestly  _sinful_  amount of orgasms."   
  
"Well, it didn't hurt, did it?" he says, keeping to himself that he'd wanted them to stay almost no matter what, and wearing them out like that had been his best bet. "So a sinful amount of orgasms, hm?"  
  
"I'm fairly certain a priest is dead now because of the things you did to my vagina," Viper states bluntly. "In fact, I think the things you did with your tongue have guaranteed me a spot in the second circle of Hell. I'm not even  _Christian_ , I believe in reincarnation, but that's what's going to happen."   
  
They really are going to kill him one day with the shit that comes out of their mouth. Reborn chuckles as he raises his galao to his mouth. "I apologize for your inevitable damnation." Drinking, he lets his eyes roam over their body for probably the third time this morning. He's fully dressed, as expected- suit and all. Viper, in contrast, is still sloppily but contentedly wearing his shirt partially buttoned up. It's practically a dress on them, and he's not even a large man. Beneath the fabric, their chest is still flat. By now, Viper seems to have eased up that he's not asking about it.   
  
With the morning light filtering past the curtains and the scent of the ocean in the air, everything... feels peaceful. Maybe it's because this is the first time between the two of them, but this might be better than the actual sex- sitting with his soulmate, eating breakfast.   
  
It's nice.   
  
When he's done, he gets up and straightens his tie. "I have to catch my flight to report back to the Vongola. This room will stay good until tomorrow morning, so you're more than free to keep it until then."   
  
Viper is still lazily enjoying their galao, and they hum at his words. "I'll probably be gone by noon at latest. I put measures in places before I left to keep Ms. Mozart safe, but I don't want to leave things unattended for too long." They sip their drink before considering. "Not to mention all my things are still at that place."   
  
"Fair enough." Picking up his suitcase, he lingers by them long enough to brush his fingers through their messy hair. He wants to kiss them again. It'd be a bad idea, of course, because then it would be last night all over again. He'd never stop. Still, he wants to. He contents himself with this. "I'll see you next time, then."  
  
Subtly, enough that someone else could miss it, Viper tilts their head against his fingers. "Next time. I'll win, just so you know."   
  
Smiling, Reborn adjusts his fedora and makes sure his chameleon is secure. "We'll see."   
  
The whole encounter makes his flight back home to Italy the most serene it's ever been, even with the nuisances of flying across the world. His check in with Vongola Nono goes smoothly, as usual, and it doesn't slip past him that some of the other mafiosos in the halls are muttering about a very annoying agent speaking up for one Madoka Mozart with a sharp tongue and quicksilver mind that refuses to settle for anything less.  _Apparently_ , the girl has a family right to the Stradivarius and her 'adviser' won't let anyone forget. He keeps his smirk hidden away as he passes by talk of the negotiations that are now in place.   
  
Coming home, finally, should be at least something of a respite. It's a secure enough apartment, large enough for him and the chameleon that he made sure to drop off before finishing his report. With his job, he's never been wanting for money, and so there's more than enough furnishings for his tastes that are sure to last. Yet the second he steps inside and drops his key into the small bowl by the door, he can feel the back of his neck prickling...   
  
He fakes obliviousness as he saunters up to the enormous corkboard of targets he's taken out over the years, placing a pin right in the center of the butler's head, and  _that's_  when he decides he's had enough. He twists sharply on his heel, gun in his hand like it never left, and he aims right for the heart of the figure sitting in the shadows of his study.   
  
"Who's there?"  
  
"Please excuse me... Mr. World's Greatest Hitman."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There absolutely is a brand of lube called 'Gun Oil'. I hear it's fantastic.


	5. Venenation

"Checkerface" is the most Batman-esque shameful example of an alias they have  _ever_  heard.   
  
It's names like that which make Viper wonder, sometimes, just what on earth is wrong with everyone involved in their chosen profession. Wondering is all they  _really_  do, however. After all, they're still here, making their way to some lodge in the middle of nowhere, their things packed for an extended stay. Their transport? It's a jeep constructed and held together by their flames. They let it drive itself as they look over the map once again and reflect on this newest job. It'd be  _nice_ , of course, if they could relax like all their other jobs with their employer taking care of things such as transport for them...   
  
_Yet I trust such a skilled individual can make it to the assigned place with little trouble._  
  
Viper scowls. It'd been a nice stroke to their ego when he'd mentioned how they were the strongest illusionist in the world within the first minute of their conversation. A shame he'd gone and ruined it with that comment.   
  
Still, this isn't the first shitty personality they've had to work for. Call them "shallow", but the amount of money he had paid up front merely to get them to take one little look at this job of his... Well. They won't forgive him, but they can let his lack of social skills slide by. If the job itself pays more? Viper thinks they could forgive him wanting to start a small war. So long as it doesn't infringe on their business, anyway. Even if this doesn't prove to be worth the trip, the payment for both protection and consulting from Madoka Mozart is enough to sate their greed a little while. A minor detour won't hurt things.   
  
But working with other people... Tucking the map they'd been given, Viper shifts in their seat and watches as the trees pass by. Is it with other illusionists? They hope they aren't expected to take the lead on anything... Being a team player isn't something they've ever put on any of their resumes.   
  
They're the kind of thoughts they've mused over ever since they were first given the invitation. By this point, it's something to keep their mind occupied even as they stay on the lookout for anything unusual.   
  
Maybe making the situation stranger, there's nothing in their way. It's a clear cut route until, past the trees, they see it: a multiple story log lodge, snug and right at home in the wilderness. It's still the early afternoon, and the sun shines through the windows easily. Slowing the illusionary vehicle, Viper takes a look at all of it. It doesn't seem like any of the technologically up-to-date safehouses they've so often worked at before. Security seems nonexistent at a first glance. The only things out of place are a few vehicles situated outside. There are four in total, each with its own personality. The idea of them all coming together? Ha, unlikely. Viper scoffs under their breath as they tug invisibility over themself, "parking" themself and keeping their luggage hidden. They stay out of sight as they carefully look over each vehicle.  
  
The most eye-catching award goes to a motorcycle in the lineup, an aggressively punk sort of thing with a skull paintjob. They've learned some things about motorcycles, since the Kamishiro job, and their research comes through as they inspect the bike. It's top of the line, well maintained, and built for power. They can't imagine what kind of professional in their line of work that would ride this kind of thing, out of all the options. It's not  _impossible_... But for now, they'll put the possibility of other illusionists at the bottom of the list. They're familiar with most of the big players there, and none that they can think of are like this.   
  
Runner up for eyecatching is... Well. Cars are generally supposed to have some sort of roundness to their edges. Aerodynamics, something like that. This is  _angular_. Sharp. The kind of car that, if made into a toy, would make even usually careless parents worry about their infants choking on it. It looks experimental in the most suspicious way, and Viper doesn't think they want to test what those additions by the tailpipes are for. They give it a wide berth. Taking chances with something as weird as that is flat out ridiculous.   
  
Besides it, an armored car seems almost  _normal_  in comparison. It says something about their life that Viper is reassured by its presence. It's military grade, clearly roughed up but in no less fine condition. The fact that it's banged up is reassuring instead of not. If it were shiny and new and never touched, it'd simply be some rich fool wanting to show off. Whoever uses this isn't afraid to get in the thick of things. Maybe a soldier type. They could handle that. Illusions are fine on their own, but if someone were good enough, maybe they could enhance one another...   
  
With all those ridiculous vehicles, to have something that's a simple everyday four door in plain gray at the end of it all... It stands out even more. Because of that, Viper inspects it more carefully than all the other ones. The windows are black, and something about them makes the illusionist think  _bulletproof_. It's not as blatant as the military vehicle, but when they investigate closely they find that the exterior is of a much different material than any civilian car. Viper recognizes it. They've worked for too many criminals not too. It's not as armored as the other, but this is definitely made with someone's protection in mind.   
  
Viper loops around the exterior of the building a few times, and it's as they're finally pondering on whether they should go in that they hear another vehicle approaching. Well, when an opportunity presents itself to them, why should they miss out on it? Staying hidden, they watch as what seems like a very familiar car pulls up...   
  
Ah.   
  
Of course.   
  
Somehow, they suppose they can't even remotely be surprised when the car is turned off and from out steps a certain hitman. They watch as Reborn glances over the lineup as well, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. His dark eyes sweep over everything.   
  
"...Viper."  
  
He  _would_  know they're there.  
  
They tug off the illusion on their person, although the one on their things stays on, and pout his way. "I think I could do without you always knowing when I'm nearby."   
  
"You know it can't be helped." He nudges his fedora up, those piercing eyes of his still in full effect. "So you were hired as well."   
  
"I was bribed to see his full offer," Viper says dismissively. "We were both too stubborn- he wouldn't tell me more about the job besides that my skills would be valuable, and I wouldn't immediately accept with such little information." They shrug. "So he decided on a compromise. If I judge the job as something I'm interested in doing and if he's paying enough, then I'll accept. It's as simple as that."  
  
The most annoying thing about Reborn is how hard it is to tell his feelings at any given time. He merely nods, which is the only scrap of satisfaction they can figure out, and looks up to the rest of the lodge. "The Vongola permitted me to take this job."   
  
Well. "You don't sound particularly happy about it. Afraid the most powerful mafia family in the entire world will fall apart without you around?"  
  
There's no comeback, no banter. He toys with the ends of one of his curls, and that's it. That, and the look he sends to them that seems to hint at  _later_. "I have a feeling you weren't waiting for me, so shall we?"  
  
"You first."  
  
"So I can absorb any bullets that go flying my way and you can stay fine?"  
  
"I'm glad to see you still know me so well."   
  
No bullets go flying towards them. There's no attack. Nothing suspicious. It's a perfectly normal lodge with an impressive foyer that has two sets of stairs framing it and an open pair of doors leading further inside between them. A dining room is visible through them and, from it, come voices. They stop as Viper and Reborn step through the doorway. A quick sweep of the room shows five people seated at a round table. Amusingly enough, they're each so distinct that Viper is fairly certain they can tell immediately who drove in what vehicle.   
  
The punk looking guy with a lip piercing? The motorcycle. Woman in uniform with dusky skin and no-nonsense eyes? Armored car. Weirdo with the labcoat who hasn't raised his head from a stack of books he's already established around himself even to see who came in the room? The experimental disaster waiting to happen. For the inconspicuous but dangerous car, the Chinese man in red who cants his head curiously at their arrival doesn't seem to fit the description. (Did he come with someone else or what?) That leaves...   
  
She's Italian, Viper thinks. If the plates back on that car were reliable indicators, anyway, she should be. Unlike the rest of the people gathered, she's up and about setting down espresso and cups. Somehow, she seems to know exactly when Viper is looking over at her because she looks up and smiles right to them.   
  
It's probably as deceiving as her car. Viper stubbornly tells themself they're not falling for it.  
  
The chairs are set at exactly seven, and the only two available spaces are on opposite sides of the scientist. (There's one more, but there's a coat draping it- probably the Italian woman's.) Viper doesn't hesitate in heading over to one, biting back the urge to glance back at Reborn to see his reactions to everything. He's still standing by the doorway by the time they take a seat, and it takes a few minutes more before he goes to sit down as well. The whole room is tense and quiet, the voice from earlier having gone quiet whoever it was. It's obvious why. Almost none of them seem to know each other, although Viper thinks they can recognize some of them as they look around. It's an unusual job, to make things worse. The only person who doesn't seem bothered is the woman in white. She bustles around, almost normally, like this is a casual neighborhood get together.   
  
'Luce'. It's the name she eventually introduces herself by, over offerings of cookies. The kindness in her smile sticks through in all her interactions, no offense taken when the military woman refuses or when the scientist doesn't even acknowledge her. It's not all sweetness- she's not afraid to tease the twitchy paranoid hitman that is their soulmate, and she's not afraid to prove her honesty.   
  
Viper takes a cookie. It's free, after all, and they'll never decline free things.   
  
Just like that, introductions end up happening. Viper isn't sure how. They'd guess that the cookies were drugged with something, if everyone had it instead of them and the biker. Reborn kicks it off since Luce won't stop teasing him with "Signor Sicario Paranoide". Some do it for politeness, like the martial artist, while Viper is one of those who goes last and only at prompting.   
  
Luce. Skull, the stuntsman. Lal Mirch. Fon. Verde.   
  
Viper's eyes linger on the orange marking beneath Luce's left eye, the brilliant purple of Skull's hair, how Verde's head is a mess of grass green. They're starting to see a connection here.   
  
Around half an hour passes- maybe a little more, maybe a little less- when finally a new voice enters the discussion.   
  
"So, I see you've all introduced yourselves. Excellent- should you accept the job I'm offering, you will need to become quite familiar with one another."  
  
There it is. The one person who, apparently, can drag Verde's nose out from his paper and ink and temper Luce's smile. A flicker of relief goes through Viper as they look around the table. As far as they can tell, every other person assembled here doesn't trust the man approaching the table. That's good. No one really knows one another- probably, and excluding Viper's own connection with Reborn- but at least they can all be united in how blatantly suspicious Checkerface is.  
  
How else to put it? There's an aggravating sort of confidence to his stride, and the gleam of his hair as it catches the light is blatantly artificial. (Viper still remembers that goddamn butler.) Those would be one thing. Yet the mask, the checkered gloves, the  _metal hat_...   
  
Viper would never say it aloud, on account of being a professional, but there's no other way to describe it as "overcompensating try-hard asshole".   
  
He smiles as he looks over all of them, although frankly the mask doesn't allow him to do much else. "The most talented group of people in the world- you all make quite a sight. Luce, the world's greatest seer. Fon, a martial artist history has never seen before. Skull, a stuntsman death simply can't catch or keep. Viper, the most talented illusionist for generations. Lal Mirch, renowned soldier and ace on any martial force she's with. Verde, the world's new Da Vinci. And, of course..." There's a smile in his voice, now, too. "Reborn, the world's strongest hitman."   
  
Reborn doesn't say anything. He watches, blank and suspicious.   
  
"If you could cut to the chase already?" Verde is the first one to speak, adjusting his glasses and frowning. The pen in his hand spins, a sharp and flawless arc. "We're well aware of one another's talents and abilities. What I'm curious about is what job you have that is so vital to interrupt my own research."   
  
"Yeah!" Skull bursts out. He seems younger than some of them, but maybe that's because of the fact that he still thinks it's menacing to put skulls on all his things. "You didn't tell me a single thing about the kind of job you're hiring us all for- I don't even know what kind of vehicle you might be hiring me to drive!" A pause, and Viper amuses themself with the look of faint horror that crosses his face. "You better not have hired me to be a meat shield!"  
  
A low amused chuckle rolls out of their mysterious potential employer. "That is entirely up to you, my skilled stuntsman. You see, I have gathered you all here for not merely one job but  _many_. For sake of ease, you would all live here temporarily. I will supply you with tasks on occasion, to be completed by a certain date. If you complete them, you will be paid accordingly. The details will be left with each task- payment, the date, what your goal will be. How you accomplish that goal... I will leave in your capable hands, for the most part."  
  
"And what sort of assignments do you plan on giving us?" Lal Mirch wastes no time on pretty words. She's straight to the point. "You've gathered military, mafia, and a martial artist alongside others. Do your jobs involve murder?"  
  
"Only occasionally. Your talents, all of them, can be utilized in a variety of ways that do not necessarily lead to bloodshed. Protection, for example. Relocation of certain items-"   
  
"Theft, you mean," Viper says dryly. They're with Lal Mirch on this. Cutting to the point seems like it'll do more work than playing along with his hokey theatrics. "Well, I can't say I particularly care about legality in any work I do... So long as I get paid for it." They lean back in their chair, crossing arms and legs both. "So, payment. Let's say I agree to all of this- exactly how much will I be paid?" They don't mention anyone else. The rest of the group can deal with payment negotiations on their own. "It's a well known fact that my services aren't cheap."   
  
"Of course, of course." There's something about the way he says it that makes Viper want to kick out his ankles. "There's no need for concern. Since you're all professionals..." From his coat, he pulls out various papers and slides them along the table. Seven in total, one for each of them. "A contract- if you disagree with it, you're under no obligation to sign it. The payment you can expect is detailed on there as well."   
  
Every one of them takes the contract, of course, and Viper immediately searches out the discussion of payment he'd mentioned. When they do... It's hard to argue with numbers like those. Double what he'd paid them to come here. With that pressing question satisfied, they read the rest of it. It's tempting... And yet they don't find themself immediately agreeing. Instead, from the safety of their hood, they glance over to see what Reborn's reaction is.   
  
Impossible to decipher, as always.   
  
Luce is the one to speak up, saying what Viper is tentatively thinking in a calm voice. "This is a bit much to decide on right away."  
  
"Undoubtedly. So, you will have until tomorrow morning to decide. By then, I will have left you the first two assignments. You may look over them, and decide if they are the sort of jobs you wish to take." With a slight tilt of his head forward, Checkerface gestures widely to all of them. "Is that acceptable?"  
  
The entire table is quiet as they all think on both the contract he's given them and the offer made to stay a little longer. Good pay, lodgings, and... Viper's gaze flickers to Reborn again.   
  
What the hell.   
  
"I suppose I can stay a bit more," Viper answers, rapping their knuckles back against the contract. "Since you're so graciously including lodging and food, after all. No guarantee on anything else until I see the details in the morning."   
  
"Then I will too!" That outburst is courtesy of Skull. They're starting to notice a trend with him, how he always leaps as if not to be left behind. They're not going to question it much for now. "Besides, I'm not driving in the dark all the way back to the nearest town."   
  
"I've made decisions in less time," Lal Mirch agrees, placing her own contract down.   
  
"With such interesting people gathered, I'll admit myself curious to at least see where this leads." Fon, next.   
  
"Well, this is an interesting arrangement... I suppose I can agree with that line of thinking." Verde smirks, an expression that incidentally makes him look like a huge prick instead of merely a bookworm.   
  
And that leaves...  
  
On two opposite sides of the table sit Reborn and the seer, Luce. He's still in quiet serious thought, even though no decision is being forced out of him. Viper can only imagine what thoughts are going through his head. Somehow, it's Luce that's even harder to read. She  _smiles_ , and it's the kind that tells absolutely nothing. Calm and collected and expecting.   
  
Viper supposes it makes sense. They've met seers, when they were much younger and under a different name. That sort of thing was something you eventually learned to expect. What can surprise someone that sees the future?   
  
"Alright," Reborn finally says. "We'll see what you'll show us in the morning."  
  
For a second, Viper could swear that Luce's smile for a moment is something like  _bittersweet_. Yet when they go to look properly, it's the same smile as usual. Maybe they're getting fidgety from Checkerface's bullshit. "So it seems we're all decided," she says simply.   
  
So they're decided.   
  
Getting anymore information out of Checkerface is like trying to convince a cat to take up scuba. He's evasive, coy, and apparently allergic to plainly stated facts. The lodge has electricity, a full stock of food they won't have to worry about (but Viper knows they all will), and gas for the vehicles that are present. He disappears slightly after that, and they all take to investigating the lodge on their own. Viper has to admit that it's fairly nice for what it is. By the time night falls, everyone seems to retreat to the rooms they've chosen for their own.   
  
It's probably around two in the morning when Viper slips out from their own room and travels, invisible beyond even the shadows, to the room they know Reborn has holed himself up in. They don't knock, but tap their fingers against the door, and murmur, "It's me."   
  
The door doesn't open right away. Viper isn't surprised. They remember the set up he'd done at the end of the last night, the first, that they had spent together. If he's not de-trapping the door, they'll be shocked. Finally, the door cracks open as Reborn looks them over, and then he's opening it wide enough for their petite body to slip through.  
  
"I need to show you something," they say bluntly as he goes back to securing the door. Once he's done and turned back to them, however, their mind  _completely_  derails. Viper shoves a hand into their mouth to muffle an offended little screech.   
  
"Why are there  _bugs_  on your  _face_!?"  
  
The only saving grace in this situation is that at least it's not a variety of bugs, and they're one of the acceptably lovely kind. Still that doesn't take away from the fact that, one, dragonflies are still bugs and, two, they are literally crawling  _all over his face_. Some are even perched delicately along the spikes of his hair.   
  
Reborn, once again adding weight to the theory that he exists as payback for the sins of a past life, only grins. None of the dragonflies on his cheek even budge. "They're my spies."   
  
"Your  _what_."  
  
"My spies." His eyebrows waggle. Viper wishes they were tall enough to smack him. "I can talk to bugs."  
  
"You can talk  _bullshit_  is what you can do."   
  
His shoulders are shaking now, an attempt to repress his own laughter. He goes to the windows, shooing the dragonflies off so that they disappear into the darkness. "They're actually very handy. Now, what did you have to show me?"  
  
Scowling and still honestly a little horrified, they reach into their coat and pull out a single bit of larkspur. It's already budding. He takes it carefully after closing the window tight and pulling on a pair of gloves.   
  
"Doing more flora experiments with Flames?" He turns it in his hand. "What type does this correspond to?"  
  
"Mist. And, more importantly, it was still sprouting when I first arrived here." They sit on the edge of his bed, frowning. "Something about the whole situation seemed off, and I didn't like how he snuck up on me, so I thought I'd test something. I brought plants that react to a specific Flame, to see if they'd respond at all. They all are, but... Mist, the larkspur, that was the only one to grow that much that quickly."   
  
"So he's an illusionist?"  
  
"He's definitely a Mist  _user_ ," they correct, plucking out hand sanitizer from one of their pockets. "That doesn't mean he's an illusionist, or even, frankly, that he's on my skill level. It takes a lot of work to be well rounded. Some people can do sight, but no substance, or specialize in auditory illusions but anything else is frankly a mystery to them. He might even use the aspect of Mist that connects to others and allows it to track, but nothing else." Rubbing their hands, Viper leans back with a sigh. "Anyway, I checked over everything, both before and after our little meeting with him. There's no active Mist flames."  
  
"Even if we don't know how he utilizes them, even knowing this much is good." Reborn sets the larkspur down on a tissue and peels off his glove.   
  
"If you think that's interesting, did you notice the kind of people he's gathered?"  
  
"Specialists?"  
  
"No." A pause as Viper tilts their head. "Well... Perhaps you're not wrong. However, I'd actually make a solid bet that Skull? Cloud user. Luce is Sky, Lal Mirch is Rain, and Verde is Lightning."  
  
Reborn narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "And Fon is Storm...?"  
  
"I can't guarantee for him, but it would fit the pattern with you and I being Sun and Mist."   
  
"But you can guarantee for the others."   
  
Viper grins, sharp and sly. "It shows for all of them. Flames are a part of our very body, a manifestation of our life force." Reaching upwards with one hand, they trace two fingers down along one of their own facial markings. "Doesn't it make sense that if a Flame is potent and plentiful enough, it'll manifest somehow without prompting? In distortions on your skin, the color of your eyes, your hair..."  
  
Humming thoughtfully, Reborn sits on the bed as well although a respectable distance away. Anyone peeking in would never guess the two of them are bound to one another. "That doesn't explain myself or Fon. I can't speak for him, but you should certainly know my own flames."  
  
They shrug. "There are exceptions, obviously." Pausing, Viper crosses their arms thoughtfully. "Although both of you have dark hair and eyes..." Maybe it's something they should look into?  
  
Reborn's lip curls up in a slight smile. "While I always take interest in the research that you do, perhaps we should focus. So if you're right, then he's looking to hire people to fulfill the whole range of Flame types. Why?"  
  
"Who knows." Frowning, Viper lies back and kicks their feet slightly. It's a frustrating mystery. They don't like it. It's tempting to say 'to hell with it all' and mindlessly accept, but there's too many unknowns... And Reborn is involved too. "I wasn't able to find anything in this place that could reveal a single bit of what's going through his head. What about you?"  
  
He's frowning again, fingers laced together as he rests his elbows on his knees. "Nothing. The lodge seems relatively new as well. I didn't even find any security measures besides simple locks for our personal rooms and the doors outside. If he has enough money to satisfy  _you_  plus six other people, then it's probable that he had this place built purely for this reason."  
  
"He's either highly suspicious or overly dramatic." They snort. "He's Mist so frankly it could just as likely be both."   
  
"Is that a statement of your character, Viper?" He gets kicked for that and laughs.   
  
"It's a normal trait you acquire in my line of work, thank you," they grumble. "Like apparently cliches are in yours, Mister Suit and Fedora."   
  
"I look good in them." A faint pause. "Unless you disagree with that assessment?"   
  
Viper is quiet for a little while, and their kicking has subdued itself into rubbing against his calf. "You look good in everything," they finally murmur, watching as his fingers slide slowly to their own. They're an adult, but for some reason right now they feel really young when his pinkie links with theirs. An old story of the soulmate bond flickers in the back of their mind: red strings connecting a pair of mates by their pinkie fingers. Theirs and Reborn's bonds have manifested differently, of course. Colors and names are very different than strings. But if they were that way, Viper can only imagine how tangled they'd be. "Frankly, it's kind of annoying."   
  
"Someone being attractive is annoying?" Reborn chuckles, dark eyes looking down at them. They're still not over that bit of irony. He's like a testament to their life before: dark and pale with no color. It's almost as though a trade off took place. With him around, they'll never be able to forget their own roots.   
  
"Extremely annoying," Viper reaffirms. "You can be as pretty or cute or handsome as you like. I want to throw a brick at you everytime I see you." They listen to him chuckle at that, and the place where their finger connects with his seems so warm. "So, are you familiar with the others he brought into this?"  
  
"I've heard of most of them, as a matter of fact. Lal Mirch, Verde, Fon... And Luce as well. You?"  
  
"Hmm, Skull, Verde, and if this Fon is the same weirdo I heard about while in China a couple of years ago who got booted from the Chinese military because of his hair and took on a whole martial arts tournament without pausing for breath..."  
  
"Same one, I think. What have you heard about Skull?"  
  
"You know how he was concerned about being a meat shield? It's because apparently he has a reputation for surviving disastrous situations. Stuntsman, right? There was a pileup, everything caught on fire, and he made it out without serious burns. Apparently some people say no burns at all."   
  
"He seems like an idiot."   
  
"Oh, definitely, but if we all agree to this job... Well, he'll be a useful idiot. So Lal Mirch and Luce, what about them?"  
  
"Have you heard of COMSUBIN? Lal Mirch is young, compared to everyone else there, but she's already climbed enough ranks and earned enough medals to embarrass those twice her age. The mystery soldiers that rescued that small vacation town in the Mediterranean last March? That was her and a student of hers, apparently. He covered her with a sniper rifle and she incapacitated anyone from that group that was foolish enough to get in her way."  
  
"'Incapacitated' and not killed?"  
  
"Mhm. She made sure they went to trial."   
  
Viper gives a low thoughtful hum. That takes a lot of skill and restraint, to not even make accidental casualties in a situation such as that. They  _knew_ they'd made a right assessment about her car. "That's her, then. What about Luce?"  
  
That's where Reborn goes quiet, his finger twitching against theirs. "She's the donna of the Giglio Nero Famiglia."   
  
"So they're important?"  
  
A complete and utter look of exasperation is layered all across his face as he stares down at them. "I thought you were familiar with Cosa Nostra?"  
  
"I'm familiar with anything that's immediately relevant to the job I'm working on," Viper points out before they literally point, at him. "And thanks to you, that's mainly been the Vongola Famiglia. Ass."   
  
There's a huff of a laugh, but he doesn't push it. Good. He should accept responsibility for dominating their jobs for over a year. "They're a Famiglia older than even the Vongola, and many others besides. They're nowhere near as large, but... They're small like a dagger sliding through your ribcage is small."  
  
Phrasing like that wins over Viper's heart easily. They smirk. "They know where and when to hurt."  
  
"Right. Unlike many of the others, they're strictly matriarchal. The mother passes down the title of donna down to her daughter or granddaughter. From what I've heard, they've been like that since the Famiglia was created." Reborn strokes his chin. "If you've only researched the Vongola and what's connected to it, then that's likely why you haven't heard of them before. They're not part of the council."   
  
"Ah." That's all that needs to be said, really. It'd been research they'd done ages ago. Even the underworld needs its balance and, for some sort of equality, the mafia has its own council of various groups. It's kind of ridiculous to say, in Viper's opinion. Even a child could see that while it's never stated, the Vongola are the head of it all. That doesn't mean a seat on it is useless to have... Assuming one can get past all the requirements- the length of the Famiglia's existence, any run ins with the Vindice, their worth, their power- it's a good place to be. "Whose choice?"  
  
"Theirs. Every year, the Giglio Nero have been offered a seat."  
  
"And they've refused it each time." Now that  _is_  interesting. "Has she stood out as a donna, Luce?"  
  
"No, it's been status quo."  
  
"Then the ability she has is probably genetic," Viper murmurs, half to themself. "It would explain why they've been able to be as effective as they are despite being a smaller Famiglia."  
  
"It's the first I've heard of it."   
  
They laugh. " _Obviously_! A seer is an amazing ally or captive to have. Maybe you can't do anything about the future, but you can prepare for it. That's probably one of their greatest secrets. Even you can't find out everything." His grumble shows he's not particularly happy about that, at least for a situation like this, but Viper ignores it. "So. Now we're equal in what we know about the others here, at least." They pause, rolling the question around in their head before letting it out into air. "Do you think the chances are good that you'll accept?"  
  
There's no immediate answer, which is reassuring in its own way. It wouldn't be Reborn if he didn't think out everything like that. "We'll see. Chances are, however... I probably will. Vongola Nono didn't seem surprised that I received an invitation for a job like this. I don't have anything on my schedule for me back in Italy."   
  
"No wonder you had been off when you drove up," they mutter thoughtfully. He'd probably been wondering about what his main employer was thinking. Viper raises their voice for their own answer. "Well, barring any excruciating circumstances, I'll probably accept. It's good money."   
  
"Of course it is." They're glad he's not surprised. All this time spent with him hasn't gone to waste. "So, is that all you wanted to talk about?"  
  
Viper lies there, not directly looking at him and preferring to stare down at their linked fingers. This is almost like the time back in the hotel room, where they'd been so exhausted they'd barely been able to clean themself up before ending up curled against his side in bed. Only they're not exhausted. Sure, it's two in the morning, but they've pulled worst all nighters. Their sleep schedule is kind of a mess. The point is, they're wide awake and perfectly aware of what they want to do.   
  
This is... strange. They're not sure if they like it or not.   
  
"All I can think of for now," they answer, and don't move. His fingers sneak further over theirs.   
  
"Well, if you don't feel like having to sneak back to your room, you're always free to stay here." On the surface, his voice sounds like it always does: calm and in control. Yet beneath it, tentative and careful...   
  
It only takes a slight shift for them to grip his hand.  
  
"I suppose I can stay around to help keep your paranoia in check."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Sunflower.  _Really_." Reborn's snort makes Viper grin.   
  
"Yes! They're named that for a reason, it's simply not the obvious one people think. Come on- the extent to which they can grow? That's the activation ability of the Sun flame at it's finest."   
  
"I'm not saying it doesn't make sense." He waves at them as they walk through the halls of the lodge, going for the stairs. "It's just ridiculous."   
  
"You can call it ridiculous if you like, but-"  
  
"Good morning, you two." The cluttered Italian the two of them had been speaking is broken up by Luce's own as she meets them at the bottom of the stairs, smiling and at ease. It's kind of frustrating to not be able to tell if this is real coincidence or pre-planned. In her hands is a tray with some cups stacked and a pot of espresso. "How did you rest?"  
  
Reborn gives a nod, because he has better manners than Viper, and Viper stares quietly because they are  _determined_  not to like Luce. "About as well as can be expected," he answers, which is a reply that tells approximately dick all. Luce waits patiently for Viper to do so, maybe more out of politeness than anything, before she smoothly moves on.   
  
"Everyone else is out on the front deck. I thought we could have breakfast out there first before moving onto business. Lal Mirch and Fon are coming back from their walk. In fact... Well, maybe you'd like to watch yourself." Chuckling, she moves on to the front doors which are left wide open. Viper glances up to Reborn and shrugs, having no issue with following her.   
  
Everyone else is already awake and outside, and Lal's voice greets them as they pass the front door's threshold. It's English. "If it'll make you stop following me, fine, I'll give you a quick match, but that's it." She's walking out of the surrounding woods, slinging a heavy looking backpack to the ground and shrugging out of her jacket to reveal a simple tank top beneath it. Fon is not too far from her, obviously the target of her annoyance, and he couldn't look more pleased. There's a quiet little hope in Viper's heart that someone breaks his nose at some point. They're not even sure why.   
  
"I will look forward to seeing your skill in action."   
  
As the pair of them start to stretch, Viper glances over at the people that are actually on the deck instead of out in the dirt and grass. Even with the makeup caked onto his face already, Skull looks like he hasn't slept. That would explain the jitteriness to his bouncing knee, although Viper isn't quick to rule out the espresso either. What's really a surprise is that Verde is sitting in one of the wooden chairs as well, apparently socializing like a regular person. There's a kind of annoying smirk on his face as he looks out onto the two combat specialists. It's only knocked off when Luce comes over to him, smiling and offering him espresso. Then, he looks like a sort of bewildered nerd with too big glasses.  
  
"So what are they doing?" Viper asks bluntly as they plop down into a free seat, stealing a croissant from another tray set on a small table. It's still warm- perfect.   
  
"I think he pissed her off, somehow," Skull says, first to answer as always and jerking his shoulders in a shrug. "I only know they were up before literally everyone else for... I don't know."   
  
"Reconnaissance!" Lal yells.   
  
Viper could believe that for her. Lal Mirch is the symbol of reliability. But Fon? "And what was he doing, then?"  
  
"I simply want to see the limits of those who've been called the best in the world," Fon answers, cutting off anything Skull could say smoothly. The stuntsman seems kind of put out about it, honestly.   
  
"So they're sparring?" Reborn suggests, taking his own espresso and sitting down besides Viper. It's simply because it's the only open seat. Obviously.   
  
Verde snorts, crossing his arms and raising his own mug to his smirk. "I hope we at least get a show."   
  
They have their own idea of what they want to see. Swallowing their croissant, Viper cups their hands around their mouth and shouts, "KICK HIS ASS, LAL MIRCH!" They can hear Reborn nearly snort up his espresso, and they're pretty sure the only reason no one else notices is because Skull literally chokes on a strawberry. Luce giggles, quietly.   
  
"So what's got you rooting for her?" Reborn mutters to them in Spanish, his lips curled in a grin around the rim of his mug. Viper honestly has to think on their answer. They really only have fleeting impressions of everyone so far. Besides Reborn, there's no real reason for them to cheer for one person over another.   
  
"I get the feeling that I'm going to hate him for the rest of my life," they finally answer Reborn while Luce is preoccupied with smacking Skull's back to extract the strawberry from his throat. Reborn seems to barely be keeping his grin under control.   
  
"You haven't even  _talked_  to him."   
  
"I know it. I know I'm going to hate him. I hope Lal breaks one of his limbs."  
  
"You said you'd hate me."  
  
"Doesn't count."   
  
It's likely the two of them could go on for ages. Their conversations always do. Yet before Reborn can retort, Lal and Fon stop their stretching to face one another. Still draped in red, Fon slides into a loose fluid stance. Viper doesn't really know much about martial arts, but they can recognize the ease in how he moves into position. Lal is a direct contrast: drawn in tight, muscles tense, a spring ready to go off at any second.  
  
Viper isn't sure who moves first. It's like trying to gauge lightning versus a comet at first glance. All they know is that both combatants burst forward, and suddenly Lal has Fon on the ground with her hands twisting one of his arms and a combat boot digging into his chest.   
  
She's speaking rapid and scolding Chinese. Viper needs a moment to translate in their head. " _This isn't the best you can do and we both know it. I'm not going to take any of this playing shit, you either come at me seriously or not at all, at least for your skill level. Or did you think you needed to go easy on me? Bastard._ " Lal lets his arm go and takes her boot off him, lips twisted in a scowl. It is horribly easy to get distracted by the way the muscles of her shoulders and arms shift as she eases back.   
  
Viper leans closer to Reborn and whispers in Spanish. "Would you be upset if I said I'm extremely attracted to Lal Mirch right now?"  
  
"It is an extremely appropriate reaction to have," he replies back quietly, lips curled in amusement. Still, he's definitely watching her in interest. Viper isn't sure if it's because he wants to pick a fight too, or if he's honestly attracted. It might be both. Reborn is simply that type of person.   
  
Apparently, he's not the only one. Fon gets to his feet and can't stop staring at her either. It's as though every single love and lust deity, from Oshun to Aphrodite, backhanded him silly, and then Guan Yu nudged him in the side knowingly. "My apologies," he says in that soft tone of his, contradicting the fire burning in his eyes. "May I have a rematch to give you more acceptable battle?"  
  
Lal eyes him dubiously as she rolls her shoulders. "Fine," she accepts begrudgingly, taking her place from before.   
  
The difference in the rematch is  _blatant_. Viper's always liked to think they had quick eyes, but keeping track of Fon and Lal tests their limits. From the side, they can hear Skull give a quiet "Holy shit". It's a fair enough reaction, honestly. No wonder the two of them were chosen as the world's best. It's the kind of show Viper doesn't think they'd be able to see any other time.   
  
What truly makes it worth it, however, is the sudden flaring contrast that sparks between the two fighters. A bright destructive red burst, rebuffed by a smooth tranquil wave of blue. Fon's hand, Lal's arm. Viper bares their teeth in a triumphant  _I told you so_  smirk to Reborn, and he merely grins with his eyes are still locked on the fight.   
  
Despite- perhaps  _because of_ \- the skill between Fon and Lal, the fight doesn't drag on. It takes only a few minutes before Fon finally has her in a firm lock. He makes sure to avoid the mistake of his last one from a moment before, where she'd still had enough room to slam the back of her head into his face. Lal Mirch gives her best struggles despite it all, to his obvious delight. It's Luce, emerging from inside the lodge again with another tray, that calls out to them.  
  
"That seems like a good enough warm up for today, you two. I think it's time we all discuss the proposition we were left." From the tray, beneath a plate of warm bread and jam, she pulls out a pair of folders. "These are the first jobs he's left for us... Assuming anyone accepts, of course."   
  
That's exactly what's needed to get Lal and Fon to untangle, the martial artist sliding out of his shirt and the soldier sweeping a sweaty hand back into her hair. Luce, pleasant as always, hands them both a water bottle. The folders and their contents get passed around freely. Some, like Verde, blaze through the words with little trouble. Others, like Reborn, take their time and are careful about it.  
  
In the end, the two jobs amount to this:   
  
The first job is a breakout-and-rescue assignment, given more by an outsider than Checkerface himself. Someone named Attano made the wrong enemies, and now he's in a high security prison. Without setting the whole place ablaze, a team needs to infiltrate the building and retrieve Attano. It sounds very simple on paper. Familiar with the prison name given, however, Viper knows that it'll probably be a pain in the ass. Oh, not impossible depending on who goes, but a pain in the ass regardless.   
  
The second job is a retrieval of a different sort. An apparently valuable book on insects has been left abandoned on a remote island called Necronesia. The various species, unique to the place, are all highly aggressive and also mutated.   
  
So, to sum up... They're actually nothing too unusual from the jobs Viper has done in the past.  
  
It's enough to make the illusionist frown slightly even as they pass the last paper to Reborn. They're not sure what they were expecting. Something horrible because of how Reborn had been acting? A request for their firstborn, to use in some skeevy occult ritual? This has to be Reborn's fault, they think. He'd been so paranoid the night before that it had rubbed off onto them, somehow. Nothing is suspicious about any of the jobs. Anything else, well, rich people are always a bit strange. They'd known that since they were still young and not rich at all.   
  
Unless, of course, there's more to these jobs than what is on paper. That can never be discounted.   
  
"And this," Luce says once all the papers have been shuffled back into their folders, "is the agreement he says anyone interested should sign." On top of the jobs, she sets a simple slip of paper. It's much like the one that had been shown to them all the night before, detailing their pay and other such matters. At the bottom are seven simple lines to write their names. Luce folds her hands in front of herself as she looks to them all. Viper isn't sure when or how, but it seems as though she's slipped into the position of leader when they all weren't looking. It makes sense, her position in the mafia being what it is. "What do you all think?"  
  
"It looks fine to me," Skull says at the exact same time that Viper straight forwardly responds with "Give me a pen." They glower at him, briefly, and he flinches before going on ahead while Luce plucks up a pen to hand over to them.   
  
"I mean, I've read over plenty of contracts before, and this seems fine by me. I don't have any trouble breaking the law!" Just the way he says it has Viper side eye him as they bend over to scrawl their signature across one of the lines. He's really trying too hard. "And so long as my role sticks to helping with vehicles, then I know I'll be able to pull my weight."   
  
"And we can always use you as a human shield in case you don't," Reborn says blithely. Skull's alarmed squawk goes ignored by the rest of them.   
  
"Well, I'm not opposed to signing especially with the subject matter being of some interest to me," Verde says as he takes a pen out from his labcoat pocket. (Does he have any other articles of clothing?) "Although I must admit I'm expressing some concerns about the ability of the others gathered here."   
  
"Everyone seems to check out to me," Lal shoots back absentmindedly as she's handed the paper. She pauses just once, to glare at Fon. He's smiling way too close to her as she gives her own signature.   
  
"Well, are we certain that the younger members such as this Skull and Viper can really be reliable?"  
  
And he has that  _insufferable fucking smirk_.  
  
Lal has the pen. That means Viper can't drive it into the arrogant scientist's eye, since they doubt they could wrestle it from her. Is it worth it to try and steal his glasses and make him choke on them? They're still debating on it, impassive but inwardly burning, when Reborn speaks up.   
  
"Viper will be fine." What an intimidating figure he cuts, dark eyes focused on everyone. His tone says this statement is final. "They're the best illusionist in the world." Letting his words sink in, he gives it a moment before adding," I won't speak for Skull."   
  
"Hey!"   
  
Luce pats the stuntsman's shoulder sympathetically, even as she smiles to Verde. Viper is pleasantly surprised when she says, "I've heard quite a bit of their talent as well. I'm positive we're in good hands, so let's be optimistic until we're proven otherwise, alright?"  
  
It's... weird, having so many people defend them. Viper can't help but speak up, if only to find some semblance of normalcy in it all. "Of course, if those kind of references don't satisfy you, I'll gladly give a demonstration. For free, even, considering what I'm getting paid."   
  
There's a small huff, and Verde accepts the contract Fon passes over to him. "No need. We'll see how your skills on the field fare."   
  
"If we're done with the dick measuring contest," Lal cuts in as the contract gets passed to Luce, "let's talk about who takes what job. Obviously we're going to split into two teams. If it's a scientific journal and information on the species there, then Verde should be sent. For protection, I'll go, since I have skill in dealing with aggressive wildlife and combat situations. Viper, you're skilled at subterfuge, so you're the best choice for dealing with the prison break, and Skull can be your getaway driver. Luce, Reborn, Fon..."   
  
Looking amused, Reborn tilts his fedora up with one knuckle. "Did you plan on letting any of us give our own thoughts and opinions?"  
  
Lal gives an annoyed glare. "Well, if anyone wants to say anything, they should say it."   
  
"You didn't even stop to let anyone get a word in!" Skull protests.   
  
"Let's focus on the now." That's Luce, reining everything back in. "Viper, Skull, Verde, you were mentioned, so any disagreements?"  
  
Verde leans back, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Fortuitously, the Necronesia assignment is what I had been most interested in to start with."  
  
"Same with the Attano business," Viper yawns. They don't want to travel to some god awful island filled with who knows what kind of bugs for a plain old book. They prefer the nuisances they're familiar with.   
  
Their agreement with things seems to have made Skull awkward. Viper isn't surprised when, after glancing at everyone frantically, he answers, "It's fine by me!"   
  
Reborn snorts at that, and Luce pats his shoulder. "So that's agreed with," she says amiably. "The Attano job seems as though it will require a bit of delicacy. In contrast... As an island with all sorts of dangers, I think the Necronesia one would benefit from more people. Let's have only one more person for the first, to cover Viper, and the last two go to Necronesia as well." She beams. "Personally, I think I'd be of more help at the latter."  
  
"I think the same for myself," Fon says, still watching Lal from the corner of his eyes. Besides one bewildered look towards the martial artist, Viper is delighted to see she's mostly ignoring him. Maybe that's how she thinks he always is.  
  
"Then that leaves me." Reborn is already getting up to his feet. "With my skill set, I  _am_  perfectly suited for something like this. However, to be fully prepared, I'll have to stop back in Italy for some things. I'm going to go pack and call some people."   
  
"I don't  _truthfully_  need anything," Viper says, getting up to their own feet as well and watching Skull scrambles to his. "Still, I may as well go over some things."   
  
"Get our transport ready," Reborn adds as he tosses car keys to Skull.   
  
"Wha-" He nearly trips over his own boots to catch them. "Why am I getting the car ready!?"  
  
Reborn pauses in the doorway, letting Viper move past him. "I gave you the keys because you said you would pull your weight by taking care of the vehicles," he says bluntly. "Are you slacking already?" With that, he follows after Viper and not even waiting to hear Skull's protest. It's only when the two of them have slipped into Reborn's room does Viper snigger.   
  
"What do you have against him?"  
  
Getting what little he'd brought in, Reborn shrugs. "Out of everyone here, he's the weakest. If he can improve,  _maybe_  I'll treat him better."   
  
"You're an ass." It's not a condemnation. Viper is, more than anything, amused.   
  
"And you said you hated Fon at first glance."   
  
"Because I  _will_." Sitting on the edge of the desk, they watch him move around the room. "So, what do you plan on going to get back in Italy?"   
  
"Uniforms for the guards of the prison. Someone who can supply us with a suitable looking transport vehicle. Those sort of things."   
  
Viper nods. Going in as a guard is the most obvious and simplest choice. It won't be easy, considering a high security prison will plan for things like that, but still. "I suppose I'll go in with you as well. I'll have to make a decent enough masquerade... Unless I do the ridiculous thing of going in as myself." More for their own amusement, they sweep an illusion over their body. Hood and boots are replaced by uniform and shiny shoes.   
  
Reborn takes one glance over at them and breaks down  _laughing_.   
  
Well that's sure as hell not the reaction they were looking for. Viper bristles and snaps, "What's that for!?"  
  
"It doesn't suit you at  _all_ ," he sniggers, swaggering over to stare down at them with a lopsided grin. Maybe he's right. Viper doesn't exactly fulfill the neat and stony faced image of a prison guard. That doesn't stop them from reaching up to wrap his tie around their fingers and jerk him down hard. To their surprise, he goes right down to his knees until he's the one looking up for their eyes to meet. It ebbs away when he looks up at them, that grin still hanging from his lips. He's  _humoring_  them.   
  
"There aren't enough words in any language to describe you," they mutter, and they kick at his shoulder with one shoe. Yet even as they do that, even as he laughs, their mind can't help but take in stock of the way the scene is set up.   
  
He's on his knees, between their legs, and... Should they push?  
  
It's not a question that should nag at them as much as it does in his moment as they stare down at him. By this point, the pair of them have worked- well, they haven't exactly worked  _together_ , but their jobs have intersected more often than not thanks to their little game. They've had sex. They've had _fantastic_  sex, with lots of follow up cunnilingus that Viper can't exactly say wasn't appreciated. They've talked with each other, possibly more than Viper has ever talked with any other person for years now.   
  
So why the indecision? Why is the fact that they've had sex with one another making this  _harder_? Isn't that the opposite?   
  
That night had been sweet and soft with a liberal layer of awkwardness spread over it, the third bit being completely Viper's fault. It's new and bizarre territory. Could either of them really be satisfied with this kind of thing? Even if they were soulmates, would this be alright? They hadn't liked someone even close to this way (which is to say at all) ever since New York. Denial isn't a curtain they can hide behind anymore after their admission that night. What to do? Softness and romance has never been in their nature, not even when they were young. Viper is still tapping their shoe against his shoulder, trying to figure out their own thoughts, when they see something darker than black flicker through Reborn's eyes-   
  
_So, yes, a masochist, but also a sadist._  
  
...Ah. Viper could hide their face in their hands and mock themself. How could they forget? They don't necessarily have to be soft, or sweet, or anything like that. The first time was an outlier because neither of them knew what the hell they were doing. If he's really theirs for the rest of their life...  
  
The answer to this is something that they can't bear to wait on for confirmation. Viper realizes that much quicker. So they stop their shallow kicking, and tentatively dig their heel in. Immediately, energy thrums through the air between them, quiet but sharp. They watch the smile that had been curled over his lips fade away. Now, there's nothing but the intensity in those dark eyes of his while he stares up at them. It's a tense uncertain moment before Viper reaches forward, dragging their nails underneath his hat and into his hair. Slowly, he leans into it even as the fedora is nudged from its spot.   
  
Reborn slides a hand up along their calf and turns his head, nudging his nose against their other leg. "I was supposed to pack my things," he murmurs against their pants leg.   
  
Their heart won't stop beating, beating, beating, hard and fast. The tie is dropped from their fingers, and instead they dig their grip into his hair. The tighter their grasp, the more Reborn purrs. "Your things are always ready to go," they reply, pulling him closer until his teeth are closing around the zipper of their pants.   
  
Someone bangs at the door.  
  
Viper doesn't see when or where he pulls his gun from, but Reborn shoots right at the door without moving his nose away from where he's nuzzling at the bulge in Viper's pants. Well. They have to give him points for that in all sorts of areas. A decent person would feel morally bad, probably. All Viper can think of is how arousing that is, that he's into them so much that he'd shoot someone to keep going.   
  
Of course, then the pained yelling sort of drowns it out, and they sigh. Damn. They recognize that voice. "Reborn, I believe you shot our getaway driver," they say dryly. Reluctantly, he pulls away.   
  
"Isn't he supposed to be getting the car ready?" he mutters. Viper is almost positive he's sulking. It's amusing enough to smooth over some of their own annoyance as they hop off of the desk. While he gets back up to his feet and adjusts his hat again, Viper answers the door. Time to find out how badly Skull is hurt so they can work around it. Knowing Reborn, they doubt the wound is fatal or serious in any way. At worst, they can make him fix it.   
  
To their surprise, however, Skull is already on his feet and swearing in rude French with a hand at his side. "What was that for!?" he whines, only to pause when he has to adjust his head so that he's looking down instead of up. Viper ignores him. Their eyes are locked on his hand, and the  _faintest_ flicker of purple a shade different than their own flames that's behind it. "Wait, why are you-"  
  
"Pull up your shirt," they order bluntly even as they're already reaching forward to nudge his leather jacket out of the way. Their natural pushiness works in their favor. Skull doesn't have it in him to deny them when they're so demanding, and reluctantly obeys. From behind them, Viper can feel Reborn approaching and leaning over with the slightest curiosity. Flesh and skin is coming back rapidly already, minuscule Flames threaded throughout. They're purple. "So it is Cloud," they mutter to themself, pleased.   
  
"What?" Skull, needless to say, is utterly confused, and Viper glares up at him for a second before easing up. They can't be  _too_  annoyed that he's an idiot, they guess. The names for the different variant of Flames is, after all, a distinctly mafia thing that's spread. If this is his first dealings with the criminal underworld (and they're almost sure it is with how he acts), then it's likely he's never heard of the proper names before.   
  
Straightening up, Viper pulls their hands back. "The technical name of what you can do," they say simply, crossing their arms. "Although for you to do that..."  
  
"I thought Sun Flames were considered the healing type of Flame?" Reborn prompts, curious at least about the way this has been used even if he still probably thinks Skull is a fool.   
  
"Oh, obviously, that hasn't changed," they answer, the gears in their mind churning. This is interesting. "However... He's probably using the propagation attribute  _inwardly_ , when most users I can think of send it outwards. No wonder he survives so much nonsense in his line of work. In contrast to Sun speeding up the healing process, he's using Cloud's propagation to simply clone and restore at high speed." That's a new use of things they had never considered.  
  
Skull doesn't seem to really be understanding why this is of interest, but that isn't stopping him from puffing up proudly. "It's amazing, right? I'm a self taught gen- ow!" That would be Reborn leaning over, completely casually, to smack him upside the head.   
  
"Don't get cocky." As Skull nurses his head, Reborn tucks his hands into his pockets. "I can guarantee you that almost everyone here has probably taught themselves how to utilize their abilities, especially if they weren't connected with the mafia."   
  
"What does that have to do with anything?" Skull grumbles, but Viper waves the question away.   
  
"Let's cut the talk. What did you want?"  
  
"The car's ready." Apparently fully healed already, he places his hands on his hips. "And I've already gotten my stuff into it, so I came to check on you two. Why were you two in the same room?"  
  
Viper and Reborn both give him A Look. "We were discussing the assignment," Viper answers, which is true.  
  
"We  _are_  the ones who are going to be in the thick of things instead of simply waiting in the getaway vehicle," Reborn adds, raising an eyebrow before he turns away to go get his bag. Viper leaves both of the men, Skull sputtering at Reborn's back, to get their own light bag. It's only when the three of them are together again and heading for the stairs does the illusionist speak once more- this time in French instead of the English they'd all been sharing.   
  
" _Are you from France?"_

 _"Oh, because of how I was swearing, right?_ " Viper nods. They'd picked up some creative French swears when he'd been injured. Listening to him further, however, shows there are some differences to the usual French they've heard in their life. Skull's next explanation makes it clearer. " _I'm from Quebec, actually!_ " Proudly, he flashes a peace sign.   
  
Viper glances back to Reborn, to comment on it, but they pause to bite back a snigger. He's staring right at Skull and, for  _whatever_  reason, actually looks offended. "What's that face for?"  
  
In immaculate and strictly European French, Reborn answers with, " _You're not speaking it right_."  
  
Skull tries to bristle while at the same time trying to avoid Reborn's reach. It's not working out well for him. " _I grew up in Quebec, I'm speaking it fine!_ "  
  
Definitely laughing now, Viper teases their partner. " _Why do you even care?_ "  
  
" _I'm half French._ "  
  
" _Oh really?_ " That's interesting. They'd never known. That proves how much they still have to learn about one another. For now, they watch in amusement as Reborn points at Skull.   
  
" _Speak it right._ "  
  
" _I am speaking it right!_ "  
  
Viper laughs at them all the way to the car.  
  
  
  
  
  
Their names are now Officers Daud Wales and Billie Lurk, here to pick up a transfer at Coldridge Prison whose paperwork simply seems to have gotten waylaid... but it's alright. They have some extra documents proving their authenticity right here.  
  
At least, that's the excuse Reborn and Viper have decided on together.   
  
Whether costume or illusion, they make the perfect pair in how well they wear them. It's  _Skull_  who, unsurprisingly, is the problem. Viper resists the urge to pinch and twist his side, because it would probably bring about worse than twitchy fingers or a pale demeanor.   
  
"You're going to give us away," Reborn says quietly, his arms crossed as he side eyes the stuntsman, and Skull jumps at the sudden words.   
  
"No I won't!"   
  
Rubbing their face, Viper sighs. "You honestly will," they point out. "But don't worry about it- I'll have everything covered." That's their role in this little arrangement, after all. To save them time so that they don't have to go through the agonizingly long process of arranging for real fake paperwork and getting their connections to find them a way in, they'll be crafting it all with their illusions. Their papers will only be a little faker than they might usually be. It's going to be a bit of work, but that's why they're all in a team like this. With Reborn acting as their defense and Skull taking care of their escape, they'll be able to focus on nothing but deceit. It's actually a bit pleasant to not have to worry about those kind of things.   
  
"Well, someone needs to get it together, because we're coming up to the gates." Viper turns their head away from Skull at Reborn's words, looking up to the massive prison. It's situated a ways from a large city, close enough for supplies but far enough so that a prison escape would have that as an obstacle alone. The other obstacle? The fact that it's on a small island right off the coast, with a short bridge being watched by hawkeyed guards in towers.   
  
Scary. At least, it certainly is to Skull. Rolling their eyes, Viper slips a simple illusion over him to erase all traces of him being a panicking little brat who's acting like breaking into a prison is a big deal. It's sad. They're not sure what he's expecting, but Viper likes to think they bypass his concerns smoothly once the car pulls up to the gate. They do all the talking, letting Skull vibrate in his seat and Reborn act business-like as usual. Under the guise of their illusion, Viper can fake pleasant and polite. The false papers are handed over without any trouble, and they're handed back exactly the same as the large gates are opened. They even give a little wave as Skull drives them through.  
  
It takes a good few ten minutes to get through the checkpoints and across the bridge. Storing the information away in their head, Viper slips outside of the car even as Reborn reaches around to tightly grip Skull's shoulder. "Stay here. We'll be back shortly." Unsaid, but probably told in the way Reborn squeezes for a moment, are the words  _If you mess up this job, I'll do worse than shoot you_.   
  
"I'm going to be here!" Skull hisses back, obviously going at great lengths to not raise his voice. In contrast, Viper is going at great lengths not to kick anyone.   
  
"Relax," they order as Reborn pulls away and steps out. "This will be simple for you." But only for Skull. Who knows what sort of things they and Reborn will run into. Still, no need to get the fool all worked up more.   
  
The next barrier in the way is the front desk. It's there that, well... Viper isn't trying to show off, not  _necessarily_. Sure, the work they pull off is difficult. Anyone with the faintest experience and knowledge of the right paperwork could mimic it accordingly. What's entirely different is the finesse that goes into leaving a double of themself standing by him, cloaking their true body in invisibility so they can go closer to eavesdrop on the confirmation call, and then create two different auditory illusions to distort what both the desk guard and the higher up he calls are actually hearing with the end result being of  _course_  Officers Wale and Lurk are supposed to be here today. Afterwards, obviously, they slip back into place besides Reborn.   
  
They're not showing off. This is what's necessary for the job so that they can complete it in time with no big hitches. Still.  _Still_. Viper can't quite stifle a part of them that hopes he realizes exactly how difficult this sort of thing is. That he appreciates it. Best they can, they try to ignore the feeling. They have a job to do.   
  
In the end, both of them get escorted to a rather barren employee's lounge. "Someone'll come retrieve you once we get the prisoner cleaned up," their guard guide says, waving them off as he exits. It's only Viper and Reborn. Immediately but faking ease just in case, Viper heads towards the box of tissues they'd spotted immediately. Perfect, like they'd hoped. As they tug out a liberal amount, Reborn is right besides them and speaking low. "You said we wouldn't need a map because you would take care of that. What-"  
  
The sound of Viper's sneeze drowns out the rest of his words. It also seems to shut him up for a moment as they pull the tissue away from their face. Taking it by two corners, they spread it out and go over what's been produced with a critical eye. "Alright, this seems to be accurate enough." Turning back to Reborn, they're about to continue only to pause instead. " _What_?"  
  
Describing the expression on Reborn's face can be summed up in one word:  _revolted_. Distinctly so. In fact, he's even recoiled  _away_  from them. Viper blinks for a moment before the cause hits them. They point an accusing finger right at his face.   
  
"You had  _actual bugs_  on your  _face_ , you can't judge me!"   
  
"You are using your  _snot_  as a map!"  
  
"How is that more disgusting than bugs on your face!?"  
  
"Bugs are natural!"  
  
"Are you telling me that  _the thing my body produces_  isn't natural!?"  
  
"Snot doesn't make maps!"  
  
"And bugs aren't supposed to be  _spies_ , I can't believe this-" As always whenever they're frustrated at Reborn, to whatever degree, Viper tries to slam their foot into one of his kneecaps. As always, he dodges.   
  
He puts his hands up, still reluctant but placating now as well. "Fine. You can do that.  _Naturally_. We have a job to do."   
  
Hmph. Still, it's a good point, and Viper gives him one pissy glare before they focus back down at the map. With that kind of reaction, they doubt he'd do well if they handed it over to him. So it's up to them to memorize it before they crumple it up and throw it in the trash. To anyone else, it'll only be a tissue full of snot, messed up and sticking to everything. Perfect. Grumbling, they take out a beardtongue from their coat- another Mist sensitive plant without the smell of paperwhite or toxicity of larkspur- to craft an illusion to hide their absence. "Alright, come on. We can find the security center and I'll cover that before we go retrieve our mark."   
  
It's when they're invisible in the security room, Viper watching the screens to get a feel for the perfect way to loop them with another illusion, that Reborn leans down to murmur into their ear. "I still find you frustratingly and maddeningly attractive." The words draw a flush across their skin. How they don't try to kick him again and keep focused on the task at hand is a mystery.   
  
Truly, Reborn is the worst.   
  
Attano, when they finally find him after lots of footwork, looks a mess. Viper doesn't think it's prison life to be blamed, necessarily. He's still well built in a way that reminds them of Lal Mirch, but it doesn't match the haggard aspect to his swarthy face or the emptiness in his dark eyes. Dull brown hair hangs by his chin, limp and messy. You don't have such a lack of interest in self care unless something is weighing you down. Brilliant and purple on the back of his hand is a mark- his soulmate bond, most probably.   
  
Oh well. They're not really being paid to ponder questions.  
  
"My dear Attano," Reborn drawls, Viper's illusions hiding the scene from sight and their flames filling the various locks on his cell perfectly. "Fortunately for you, someone is interested in retrieving you from the sad hand fate has dealt." Attano's head jerks up at his voice, just in time for the locks to click in succession. Without hesitation, Reborn strides in while Viper keeps watch. Even with Attano's weight, he pulls him up to his feet easily. "Consider it a gift. Now let's get moving."   
  
There's no protest or annoying questions from Attano. He glances over them, quick and assessing, before he sharply nods and steadies his feet. Viper has to hand it to him. Everything is unexpected, there's no real reason for him to accept them unless he knows something they don't, and they're not the most trustworthy looking pair of people... But there's no annoying questions that would waste time. He merely keeps up with them utilizing a easy long stride meant for a quick escape.   
  
Perhaps he understands that questions can come later when they're not in a high security prison.   
  
Viper has to jog to keep up with both men's obnoxious long legs, although at least they have the advantage of having the map laid out in their mind. Finally, still covered in glorious invisibility, the three of them make it outside. Reborn gets into the backseat with their new friend, so it's up to Viper to smack Skull in the arm as they dismiss their illusion. There's maybe a  _little_  satisfaction in watching him jump. Oh dear. Reborn's sadistic tendencies to pick on him are rubbing off. "Time to go.  _Now_."  
  
Even in the middle of a prison lot like this, Skull really does seem to have his head on straight when it comes to driving. All it takes is a deep breath, and then he's already getting them back to the bridge. For a short while- perhaps ten minutes away from the first gate before the bridge- things are calm.   
  
Behind them, the prison blares to life with alarms.   
  
Attano sighs. Viper scowls. Reborn checks his gun, pulling it from who knows where. And Skull? Skull swears some more in French and hits the gas.   
  
The city swallows them up greedily, but it doesn't do so fast enough for bright alternating lights to disappear from the rear view mirrors. It shouldn't be surprising that Skull deals with things well, accelerating and decelerating perfectly to keep them just ahead of trouble, weaving through the streets with zero regard for road safety laws. He seems to have a talent for keeping an eye on his surroundings and the people around them, as shown when he narrowly avoids someone crossing the road. Sure, there's screaming behind them, but no one's  _dead_.  
  
Unfortunately, it's not good enough to get them clear yet. The sirens are still audible, and Viper knows it's only a matter of time until helicopters start getting involved. So, they take the last beardtongue from their coat and tuck it in Skull's shirt pocket. "Don't lose that," they warn as they clamber between the two front seats and get onto Reborn's lap. "As for you, we're leaving now." And they mean  _now_.   
  
In contrast to Skull's bewildered sputtering in the driver's seat, Reborn goes along with their unexpected order perfectly. He wraps one arm securely around their waist, better than any vice. "Get Attano to the designated place, and then come back."   
  
"We'll be at the cafe at Cliff-Main," Viper adds as they latch their fingers behind Reborn's neck.   
  
"Don't keep us waiting for long," finishes Reborn. It's an order, a threat, and condescension all in one. With that, he forces open the door and leaps from the still moving car.   
  
Once upon a time, he'd told them he was confident in their ability to make it out of a moving car unscathed. It's true. Viper knows they can make this successful. Despite that, it's something else entirely to be clinging to him like this and feeling the world  _whirl_. It's a blur of brilliant dizzying color. Against them, they can feel Reborn's body jerk and how his feet catch and jitter against the asphalt. In that brief instant, Viper puts their power to work. It pours out, from them, from the flower still in Skull's pocket, and they play their flames with a skill and passion they'd dare anyone to match. A certain thrill always burns through them when they pull off rushed and complicated illusions like this: wrapping up the getaway vehicle in the image of something else entirely, making it seem natural like it was always there, and, in its place, a completely new but perfectly double of a constructed vehicle that forms right beneath Reborn's body in a rush.   
  
Moments like these make them feel as though they're on top of the world. Nothing else can match this skill of theirs, and it makes Viper want to laugh from pure adrenaline.   
  
Reborn is swept off his feet and falls into the driver's seat with a grunt. Satisfied, Viper pulls away from him and flops into the passenger side. Shamelessly, they sprawl their legs across his lap grinning. Viper doesn't even try to hide it. "Alright- if they want a chase, lets give it to them."   
  
Smirking, Reborn takes the wheel of their new stunt double vehicle and spins them violently right back around. They certainly catch the pursuing cop car by surprise when their little van goes speeding right past the cop car turning a corner.   
  
It's been a while since Viper's been pursued by the cops like this. They wonder, inevitably, if the same could be said of Reborn. There's something that's amused in the way he grins as he makes frankly obnoxious sharp turns to throw off the police. Only such a weirdo would find a police pursuit funny. Eventually, all good things come to an end and it's  _probably_  been long enough that Skull has gotten Attano away. Their end destination, where Viper dismisses the Mist constructed car, is a parking garage- good enough to hide from the helicopters so that no one sees the little disappearing act. Keeping themself and Reborn hidden, Viper watches a car blazes through into the place before trotting after their partner out into the streets.   
  
"Slow down, you long legged ass!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can only breach a meter and a half if I wear heels, that's what!" they complain, huffing from exertion. There are still police cars starting to surround the garage, now, but they and Reborn walk right past it all under the cover of Mist. Well, Reborn is walking. Viper is starting to suspect they'll have to break into a full fledged run to keep up with him. They've never had to do this in the past when their jobs had intersected.  
  
To their surprise, Reborn turns right on his heel to come back for them and leans down to scoop them up into his arms. He keeps them perched up against his chest like they're a parrot or a porcelain doll. "That better?" he asks dryly, not a single bit of difference to his walking speed as he continues. Not one to miss an opportunity, Viper shoves him upside the head.   
  
The two of them go to the cafe at Cliff and Main Street. It takes an hour or so, after plenty of espresso and pastries, but Skull comes back for them in the end.   
  
Mission Accomplished.  
  
Attano, it seems, is adept at taking care of himself and the file never said any of them had to watch after the man. That leaves their little group free to return to the lodge which has become headquarters. Reborn somehow loops Skull into unloading all their luggage, which Viper dismisses as him going on with his weird vendetta against the stuntsman. It's a pleasant surprise when his fingers brush against their neck before they can move past his room to their own.   
  
"Maybe now," he murmurs, voice low and husky, "we can finish what we tried to start before we left." It's a suggestion and a request both.   
  
Viper grins and lets him pull them into his room.   
  
  
  
  
"What the hell took you guys so long?" Skull asks a couple days later, and Viper can't help but wonder the same question when they look up from their book. Team Island has taken a bit longer than them. While it's good to see none of them are dead as far as Viper can tell from on the deck... Lal Mirch looks like she's at least 66 different kinds of  _done_  as she comes out from the driver's seat. The presence of Fon still hounding her back probably isn't helping, although at least he looks strangely sated and content for the time being. Viper doesn't trust it.   
  
Viper  _also_  doesn't trust the large carriers with breathing holes that are attached to the back of the car, which Verde is inspecting. Luce is the only one who seems unruffled and perfectly at ease, which is telling in itself. "What the file failed to inform us," she says simply, "is that the mutations to the local wildlife, including the bugs, made many of them enormous besides merely aggressive."  
  
"I got to combat gorillas the size of small buildings," Fon says lightly. It explains so much. More than Viper wanted to know, really.   
  
"And  _someone_ ," Lal snaps, looking back to the car, "insisted we get  _research specimens_."  
  
"We were already there," Verde responds. He finally tears his gaze away from the containers. "What better time to retrieve such enormous specimens of mantodea?"  
  
Alarm bells start going off in Viper's head. They're not sure why until they look to the side and find that Reborn has come out of the lodge himself to stand nearby. Maybe other people would find his face impassive. Viper isn't sure if it's because they've spent so much time with him or because he's their soulmate, but they  _know_  that fire in his eyes. "Those are giant mantises?" he inquires. The alarm bells in Viper's head get louder.   
  
"Over two meters tall," Lal sighs, rubbing at her head.   
  
Yeah. There's no denying it now. Reborn's eyes practically have stars in them. "I'd be interested in seeing them. Let one out, Verde." And  _that's_  when Viper bolts off of their chair in an attempt to grab him. If only he wasn't so much better at that kind of thing- they end up chasing him around the cars.   
  
"Reborn, don't you DARE!"   
  
This job is going to be a mess.


	6. Billion Dollars on an Elevator

In rather short order, their mismatched group of elites begins to adopt something of a routine.   
  
Lal Mirch and Fon are guaranteed to be the first people up in the cabin, beating the sun's rise easily. It's for what they would call a "warm up" and any normal person would call "intense exercise". Reborn's morning starts a little after, when the sun has actually made an appearance, and he learns relatively quickly to go wait outside on the porch for the pair's return. It's unlikely they exercise together, but they _do_ return that way- more on Fon's effort than Lal Mirch's. When Luce always joins him outside waiting, her espresso perfectly timed, he can't be surprised.   
  
Reborn always finishes it with time enough to spare before the other two return, and then it's sparring for all of them. They switch- Fon always eager for rematches with Lal but just as eager to test Reborn, Lal not caring who it is so long as she gets her daily workout, and Reborn himself wanting to test his limits with either of his partners. Sometimes it's all three of them against each other. It's around this time Skull usually gets drawn to the porch at all the ruckus, to stare in faint horror rather than do anything useful. Viper also shows up at times, if their sleep schedule is on the conventional track, and always roots loudly for whoever is fighting Fon.   
  
Considering they do it for Lal or Reborn alike, he doesn't let it affect him too much when it's his name on their lips. If there's a small grain of pleasure, well "too much" isn't "completely".   
  
When all is said and done, Luce gestures them towards the bathrooms for clean up. It's important, considering they all inevitably end up in the kitchen to help with a breakfast large enough to feed seven people. Reborn finds himself roped into doing most of the cooking with Luce, since Lal is excellent at prepping but lacks the finesse for truly delicious food. Fon is good, but only knows Chinese cooking with no desire to learn anything else, which is why half the table ends up as buns and noodles, and Skull.... Skull is put in the corner where he can't hurt anyone else. Viper gets roped in with him and Luce, on the good days, and it's only the smell of espresso which lures a wobbling Verde out with bags under his eyes.   
  
Breakfast and dinner are the only times they all tend to see one another at once regularly. With living in a shared space and doing work with all of them, however, Reborn finds his opinions of his new coworkers solidifying. This counts his soulmate.   
  
Teasing little guessing games and the occasional dinner with conversation are entirely different from actually _living_ with Viper. It leads him to realize they've been skipping the conventional relationship steps. There's no better explanation for how they keep surprising him even now, like when he finds them suddenly stepping inside from a window on the second floor with only a "What are _you_ looking at?" as a response to him. They're still a little shit of the highest order as well, and now they have other people to rope into teasing him. Mainly, of course, it's Skull. He's the easiest to throw to the metaphorical wolf by anyone at all.   
  
Demonstration #1: A conversation in Quebec French _coincidentally_ happening right as he walks into the room, which thus starts another ridiculous argument between him and Skull.   
  
Clinging to Viper in any way would give away their relation, however, and Reborn has no desire to give away any information the illusionist doesn't want to let slip themself. There's certainly a lot to be curious about when it comes to the others, besides.   
  
Lal quickly becomes one of his favorites- to talk to, heckle, and spar with. She's a woman who takes _zero_ bullshit, always an attractive quality. Even her general lack of humor which comes along with it is amusing to poke at. It's all out of his mind when he goes up against her in a fight. Her Rain flames are like a tidal wave, crushing his activation quality whenever he gets to close. Combined with her brutally efficient military experience... Work with her is always a delight. If he hadn't found his soulmate, he's sure he would have tried to ask about her interests in the bedroom.   
  
Then again, considering Viper's response, he still might.  
  
Those two are the ones most notable in his life, but in the background Luce is always present. She's a steadfast figure, a perfect example of the Sky flame. It's hard to say when he starts thinking of her automatically; observing her effect on the others is much easier. Skull ducks behind her for safety, Verde starts to look up when she calls his name, and even Viper seems to lean into her soft familiar touches before realizing what they've done.   
  
("I'm trying to hate her," they admit to him one night, sulkily.   
  
"Is it going successfully?" he asks in return, after he's stopped laughing. Viper sulks all the harder.   
  
"No." )   
  
As a boss, he doesn't doubt she can be ruthless or knows how to dirty her hands when the need arises. There's only one problem which becomes apparent a few months into this gathering of the best. Verde points it out first one day over breakfast, observing the rest of them for once instead of keeping his nose in his research.   
  
He breaches the subject with all the tact of a crocodile smashing face first into the side of a boat. "Are you pregnant, Luce?"  
  
Carrying on what's clearly going to be a tradition, Skull chokes on a muffin. In a way Reborn would be amused by in any other situation besides this one, Lal Mirch seems just as surprised and furrows her brows as she glances over to the other woman. What's going through Fon's head is a mystery as he hides half his face behind one overly large red sleeve. All of them Reborn takes in with a quick analytical glance. It's Viper who his gaze lingers on from beneath his hat, taking in the way they're suddenly but subtly tense and leaning away. It reminds him of the first time they'd sat down for dinner together.  
  
Luce's patience for bullshit is commendable. She simply smiles over her fruit salad. Less and less coffee with every morning. Reborn's been paying attention too. "Oh, yes, I've been for a while now. I suppose I'm finally starting to show a bit, hm?"  
  
Rapping his fingers against the table, Verde rubs his near permanent stubble. "There were other signs, obviously." From across the table, Reborn can see Skull mouth 'obviously' in silent and horrified confusion. "There's been the signs of dealing with nausea, such as how you get up slowly or always carry saltine crackers with you to eat inbetween our meals, and you've been resting more over time. Change in footwear while we've been inhabiting this cabin has been another sign. I could go on."  
  
"You're _PREGNANT_!?" Skull squeals, still raspy from blueberries lodged in his throat. Lal elbows him out of the way with enough force to break a rib.   
  
"Are you sure you're going to do alright on these jobs?" she asks, brisk as usual. Her awkwardness with the subject shows in the awkward jerky movements of her hand as she sort of pats Luce's shoulder. Luce intertwines their fingers together with her smile still perfectly in place.   
  
"It's not as though I'm unable to move around at all! A little bit of exercise is good for a body when it's like this, you know." She squeezes Lal's hand as she looks to the rest of them. "It won't interfere with our work at all. I know when to step in or stay back, you all know that by now. Besides, it's always been obvious my role in this was never hands on." A chuckle softens her words.   
  
Reborn sighs. "You should have told us," he says gruffly, only it occurs to him after his words aren't "gruff" so much as they are "concerned scolding". It's worrying and nostalgic all at once. For a moment, he could be fifteen again and scolding his sister with no real edge to his tongue before she makes his heart melt in his chest.   
  
It's proven when she smiles to him, apologetic and teasing and warm. "There was never any need to worry," she promises. "Besides, Verde needs something to occupy his attention when he's trying to study us over his coffee."   
  
The scientist in question ducks his head against his mug. There might actually be a smile on his face which doesn't look like it should be smacked off. He still should be for asking such a question to a woman, of course. That hasn't actually changed.   
  
As Luce gets up, her bowl cleared, Skull starts to fuss. "Are you sure we shouldn't help more or something? Crap, I'm going to have to make sure the cars and stuff are safer for you- guys, help me out here!" There's a few languid comments from Fon about cooking dinner for once instead, a suggestion from Lal, but Reborn watches as Luce passes by Viper and her fingers light so gently on their shoulder. The faintest glimmer of comforting orange, and she keeps moving. Viper seems to ease up from the tension they'd been displaying before. Reborn finds them later in the night, and wraps around them in bed as they curl against him scribbling down notes.   
  
So that's Luce.  
  
Verde is always as blunt, smarmy, and arrogant as the second he opened his mouth the _first_ morning they all spent together. His brilliance in what seems like all manners of science, technology especially, can't be denied. How unfortunate. At least it makes him tolerable and useful. Now if only his little spying devices would stop trying to pry into Reborn's room. He's not one of his experimental subjects.   
  
And then... There's Fon.   
  
At first, he's an amusement. An extremely dangerous amusement who Reborn doesn't think he'd want as an enemy, obviously, but an amusement. They have a similar sense of humor, he thinks. Poking people, seeing their reactions, et cetera. He makes a fine sparring partner as well, a perfect opposite to Lal Mirch. With Lal, Reborn knows she won't waste any time in trying to put him down on the ground the second she spots an opening. Very aggressive for someone of Rain. Fon is the opposite, funnily enough, even though he's Storm. He likes to drag out fights if it's with someone who interests him, savoring every bit of the exchange like it's food. Reborn spends some mornings trying to coax him into being serious.   
  
His soulmate has a drastically different view. That much becomes apparent when Viper's group- them, Fon, Lal Mirch- come back from a job one day and Reborn notices the illusionist is agitated. It's something he's had to work on ever since he first met them, and he's only gotten to refine it since living with them. Viper is a closed off individual, bottling things up better than wine. There are signs to look for, once you get to know them. Reborn can see it in the twitching of their foot as Lal goes through the luggage, and the way they subtly nudge their grit jaw down whenever Fon opens his mouth. He waits patiently until it's later in the night and they've slipped into his room, illusion discarded, before he poses his question.   
  
"Did something happen on the job?"  
  
As expected, Viper blows up at the slightest prompting. "That _arrogant_ Chinese scum! He insulted my illusions!"   
  
Reborn knows Viper. He's had arguments with them before. Their first _meeting_ was half an argument. He would wager money his soulmate is reading too much into this. Still, from where he's laying on his bed, he quirks an eyebrow and nudges them to continue with his foot. "What did he say?"  
  
They really must be aggravated at Fon; their smack to his ankle almost feels half hearted. All the venom is going to their voice. "He was nagging me about how me practicing my illusions would lead to _depression_ \- I'll show him depression when I depress him into nonexistence!" Huffing, they flop onto his chest. He doesn't even have to grunt. Viper would need to have some real weight to them for it to make an impact. Reborn merely enjoys letting one arm wrap around their soft body . "I _know_ he thinks his stupid martial arts are better than my illusions. He wouldn't shut up about how it opens up the soul and other garbage." With their hood out of the way, they tilt their head back to scowl up at him. "Can you _believe_ that?"  
  
So Fon may or may not have showed concern about Viper's tendency to hole away in their room, and he almost certainly encouraged someone else taking up his life's passion. Reborn doesn't doubt there might have been a _little_ teasing, since he would have done the same. But as bad as Viper is going on about? Probably not. He doesn't say so, of course, only hums and makes himself comfortable around them. "You know, I _would_ be more at ease if you had some physical combat experience behind all your illusions, so perhaps it's an idea to explore even if he was insufferable about it."   
  
Viper's reaction is exactly as expected: they bristle up in his arms and nearly spit fire. " _Never_. I'll show him exactly how much better my illusions are to his pathetic martial arts."  
  
He can't even get himself to be surprised. This is Viper, grandmaster of grudges. Reborn simply carries on with the night, enjoying their slight weight in his arms. It's easy to lead them away from their aggravation to talks of how his bugs are assisting with the plants set up in their room. Nothing else will happen, probably, barring a few scraps now and then. It's what he's expecting.   
  
Needless to say... It's a surprise when he walks out to the porch the next morning to find his soulmate having beaten him to the punch. Viper is there in the cool autumn air, foot tapping impatiently against the wooden porch and nibbling on some sfogliatella. Luce is nearby, already with espresso and seven cups. "Ciao," she says, smiling to him as she hands him one.   
  
"Chaos," he hums in response, and gives a purposeful questioning glance to Viper's back.   
  
Luce gives a helpless sort of shrug, her fingers splaying out. "They're waiting for Fon, as I understand it," she explains, and he takes a long swallow of his espresso as he processes the information. So this is more than the usual complaining. Well, it's certain to be a show if nothing else.   
  
Sure enough, the moment Fon arrives on Lal's heels, Viper immediately goes trotting up to him before he has a chance to start up his usual sparring sessions. Reborn can't completely hear what the illusionist hisses to him, not without enhancing his hearing anyway, but he can imagine Viper's challenge regardless. With an eyebrow raised, Lal joins him and Luce. Her usual heavy pack thumps against the floor. "What's this about?" she asks as she takes a sfogliatella for herself. Reborn answers in place of Luce as their two combatants stride to opposite ends of the small clearing.   
  
"Viper is trying to reclaim their honor," he says dryly, noting how Fon bounces on the balls of his feet and excitement lights up his dark eyes. He wonders how long the other man has wanted to test himself against an illusionist of Viper's caliber.  
  
A sharp inhale is all the warning he gets before Lal is suddenly yelling besides him, "BEAT HIM INTO THE FUCKING _GROUND_ SO HARD THE SPERM IN HIS STUPID DICK CARRY THE INFORMATION OF DIRT IN THE MOUTH TO EVERY GENERATION OF KIDS AFTER, VIPER!"  
  
He's really going to have to stop drinking espresso around these people. Reborn feels it burn the back of his esophagus, and he has to purse his lips in an effort to keep it down. Everything around him is a cluster of noise, with Luce's riotous laughter overlaid over all of it from Fon's protest to Lal's defensive "They always cheer for _me_!" to Viper's single victorious "HA!"  
  
He and Luce are still laughing quietly to themselves when the fighters get prepared again. To the side, he can see Skull and Verde coming out from the doors as well, woken up from all the noise undoubtedly. Luce slips them all cups of espresso to wake up to. For the most part, it's all meaningless background activity. Reborn keeps his eyes focused on Viper and Fon. Every part of him is focused on the surroundings just as much as the two of them. You learn such things, when you've gone up against enough illusionists. The area doesn't set off his nerves like Mist flames usually do, so...   
  
His guess is proven right when the ground beneath Fon's very feet suddenly seems to turn liquid, some of it pushing upwards like tentacles to try and drag him down. Do something so sudden the other party can't help but believe it's true- the first and most dangerous trick of low level illusions. It works on some level. Reborn can see it does, because Fon uses the tentacles with some rapid hits to help pull and leap out. Viper is vicious in their barrage, never letting up with attack after attack of, each one seeming to belong in some way to their surroundings to catch him unawares.   
  
Fon doesn't let up either. With how often he's gone up against him, Reborn is unsurprised. He lives up to his flame type well, a constantly moving storm on the field that deflects and in the same movement makes attacks of his own right back. It's hard not to be some sort of proud and pleased when Viper keeps themself safe in the same way they attack- illusions rising up to block, or twining around them to jerk in a reaction faster than their body could do. No one can say they don't know their particular strengths.   
  
It's all looking to be one of those fights that will take all morning, when Skull suddenly vaults from the porch with a yelped curse. Next thing anyone knows, and one of Fon's attacks has slammed into him right into the trees. It's more out of morbid curiosity any of them, Fon and Viper included, stop to look back at him.  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Lal sighs and rubs at her face. Her next course of action involves sending an irate glare Reborn's way. "He was right next to you, you know. Why didn't _you_ stop him?"  
  
Reborn shrugs and makes a faint uninterested noise.   
  
Verde has already hustled off of the porch, Luce trailing behind them, and everyone knows only one of them is genuinely concerned about Skull's well-being. With there being no point to continuing the fight with the flow broken, Viper and Fon go over as well. Reborn stays right where he is, of course. If it's Skull, he could probably hear his complaining all the way from the opposite side of the cabin.   
  
"Skull, dear?" Luce leans over the stuntsman while Verde jots down notes. On his Cloud healing ability no doubt. "Have you fixed yourself up?"  
  
With a ragged gasp, Skull jolts up and immediately points an accusing finger at Fon and Viper. "God _dammit_ you guys!" he screeches, causing Viper to cover their ears pointedly. Reborn can imagine the scowl on their face and the pout of those pretty lips. "You almost hit my _bike_ , watch what the hell you're doing when you go off like monsters!"   
  
Hm. It's true. A few gouges in the earth are dangerously near the gaudy thing.  
  
Pressing one fist into his open palm, Fon gives the barest of bows. "My apologies. It's quite easy to get caught up in the face of such an interesting opponent." He smiles over to Viper, whose only response is to turn on their heel. They don't waste any time in coming back to the porch and disappearing inside without a word. Reborn lets them go, watching as Fon redirects his smile down to Skull as he helps him up. "Look on the bright side- your quick reflexes and impressive ability to not stay down kept it perfectly safe!"  
  
Showing for once a bit of common sense, Skull seems to view the apology with some suspicion. "But it _hurt_!"  
  
"Yes, that is the intent behind it."   
  
"It's all just as well you put a stop to it, Skull," Luce cuts in smoothly before he can protest Fon's words. "The fight was stretching on quite a bit, and I think it's far past time for us to get started on breakfast. Verde, since you're actually up and about this early, why don't you come and help out today? I'm sure Skull would love some extra hands." With a bewildered Verde blinking as Luce takes him along by the arm, they all follow suit behind her. The morning goes on as usual.   
  
That should be the end of it.   
  
It isn't.   
  
Viper starts to change up the schedule. They're right there with Reborn and Luce every morning, and they drag Fon straight into a spar right off the bat which leaves Lal and Reborn to themselves. It's fine, at first. Reborn knows how stubborn they are. If things had kept to only morning sparring, maybe it would stay fine.   
  
Yet Viper's vendetta against Fon starts to creep into work as well. They start to partner with him on every job that allows such a mash up of devastating physical force behind the pure flexibility Viper's illusions provide. Every time Reborn watches the pair of them make for the doors, a pinprick of aggravation spreads across the back of his neck and churns in the pit of his stomach. It's _nothing_ like the morning sparring sessions. It's something familiar in the worst way. Each time it happens, he's reminded of an entire year's worth of meeting Viper and watching them try to make him admit the strength of their illusions. To acknowledge their skill.   
  
Those moments had been his. _His_ , the best way to keep pulling his soulmate closer to him after years and years of other names scratching out on his back. Yet he watches as every day, every week, Fon steals it from him without even knowing.   
  
He wants to put a stop to it like he's put a stop to so many people's heartbeats over the years. Step between them, talk with Viper more, keep an eye on Fon. It'd be easy to do, if Viper wasn't so observant. They'd notice, get annoyed, view him as an _obstacle_ , and god wouldn't they raise hell. Honestly, he's still half tempted. Frustrating them was how he'd gotten them to hunt him down through various jobs those first few times, after all.   
  
It's too risky, of course, and he dismisses the idea almost immediately. Unfortunately... His backup plan is _nothing_. His backup plan is _sitting_ and  _watching_ and feeling acid start to replace his blood bit by bit.   
  
Fon encourages it. Of course Fon encourages it. Reborn tries to be rational, tries to tell himself Fon's attention is ensnared by _anyone_ who can stand up to him a fight for longer than two seconds. It doesn't _mean_ anything. Despite all his attempts, he still can't keep control of himself when Fon smiles over to Viper like a giddy schoolboy.   
  
The force of Reborn's flames almost causes his espresso to boil over the rim of his cup.   
  
"Did you eat some sort of aphrodisiac?" Viper gasps out later that night, his lips against their bare skin and his fingers teasing out the first of their orgasms for the night. Reborn gives no answer. No verbal one, at any rate. His answer is in the mark he leaves against their bared throat, knowing they'll hide it with Mist and still greedily wanting them not to. His answer is in the way he worships their body, on his knees with each kiss a prayer and each lick into their body an offering of all he can do. Every moan they make when he draws out another release helps smooth over his broken jagged edges. For a little while, if nothing else.   
  
The next morning, they take another job with Fon.  
  
Eventually, _this_ becomes routine: Viper sparring with Fon in the morning, and then Reborn stealing his soulmate back at night where he pleasures their body however they've formed it. When they refuse him, he backs off and tries to ignore the jealousy gnawing in his chest, but they accept more often than not. It only helps for so long. Reborn wants more and more, and he certainly doesn't want to share, not after how much he's worked to keep his soulmate from disappearing like all the others. Like he'd said so long ago- gluttonous and lustful.   
  
So one morning, he takes matters into his own hands.   
  
The cabin is still dark when he slips out from his room and makes his way out down to the porch area. Nothing else can be heard as he opens the door. The only thing that stands out is a small tray waiting for him outside, a still steaming cup of espresso positioned there. All the caffeine helps wake him up, even if he downs it a bit quicker than normal. When he next leaves for a job, he'll have to remember to get a gift for Luce.   
  
With sleep no longer clinging to his mind, Reborn sets off into the forest.   
  
Finding Fon, predictably, is a task all its own. Out of all of them, Lal Mirch is the only one whose regimen he's familiar with- a conversation which took place on a job while they had time to whittle in the waiting. It's actually fairly simple. With her gear, she does a perimeter check of the entire area and periodically stops for push ups, pull ups, crunches, and other such things. 20 each for every stop. It fits her perfectly, and explains the state of her arms.  
  
Such a strict regiment doesn't suit Fon. Reborn knows him well enough to say as much. The man certainly keeps himself in shape, that can't be denied, but he's a fluid individual. With how much he doesn't care for being confined, one could almost mistake him for a Cloud user. It takes almost an hour for Reborn to finally track the other man down in the chill air, balanced on a stone in the middle of the river and dark eyes focused into its depths. A strike, sharp and precise, flings a fish out onto the riverbank. It's only then does Fon look upwards, smiling over to Reborn.   
  
"Good morning, Reborn. _This_ is unexpected. I didn't think you were one for coming out for exercise like Lal and myself. I wonder what the special occasion is."   
  
Reborn wants to pistol whip him so hard he loses teeth out of his slim smile. He doesn't. He doesn't even show the bitter green eyed monster that's taken up residence in his ribcage like a trapped beast, or the bursts of wrath it inspires. All he does is adjust his fedora. "It's been a while since we've gone at it. Lal and I will get too complacent if we're only fighting against each other. I thought I'd get to you before Viper does again."  
  
There it is, a spark of fire in Fon's gaze. He leaps from his perch on the rock straight to shore and bends down to tend to his catch. "I'm never one to refuse a challenge, especially from such a talented individual as yourself. Allow me a moment to put this away. I thought I would take care of dinner tonight myself."   
  
He can wait plenty. So Reborn does, stretching out his limbs and watching Fon like a hawk until the martial artist finally straightens up. His smile only appears calm and serene. It's a complete mismatch to the excitement humming through the air. When they both surge forward, even Reborn can't tell which of them moves first.  
  
For maybe a minute or so, it's the same sparring as they've done dozens of times before. They exchange attacks, redirect one another's flow, and block every blow. It's rapid and brutal in the best way, a trade off of the perfect sort. Reborn's blood has always pounded in excitement when he's fought Fon before. At the top of his field, there are so few challenges to excite him. Lal Mirch and Fon help sate his hunger.   
  
Yet there's a different hunger in him, one that chews his innards to shreds each time he gets a glimpse of the martial artist's face. It grows steadily, leaps and bounds, and it's a miracle to him he can keep such a facade of calm laid thickly over it.   
  
All his control snaps at long last when Fon grabs him by the wrist, tries to direct his movements into something expected and conventional. It'd be a sleight even without his corrosive jealousy- to think him so mundane, so predictable. Now, it's a spark going off into a gunpowder barrel. Reborn doesn't even think. His body decides for him, twisting against itself, and there's a snap that might as well be white noise to Reborn. All his focus is on slamming his fist into Fon's twice damned face. If only there was a satisfying _crack_ of bones breaking- at this state Reborn thinks it'd be an almost orgasmic pleasure. Yet in the blur of movement, he sees Fon's eyes widen and his head jerk back. A foot slams itself into Reborn's side. Ignoring his aching side and screaming joint, Reborn catches himself before he can go tumbling backwards into the dirt and takes a few short leaps away for good measure. Across from him, he can see Fon do the same.   
  
In the darkness of early morning, the blood gushing out of Fon's nose looks as black as his hair and eyes. Deep inside Reborn, a dark purr rumbles through his very bones from the monster wrapped around his heart. There's no better satisfaction than seeing Fon's blood splatter against the grass and dirt. The pain throbbing in his broken arm is worth it. Completely and utterly worth it. As Reborn gets to setting it and repairing the damage with his flame, his eyes stay locked onto Fon. The martial artist's hand is at his nose, testing the damage and wiping away the blood which doesn't stop. Every bit of his lips and chin are stained.   
  
When Fon grins, his teeth are stained as well. "Well played," he murmurs, tongue flicking out to wipe up what his fingers haven't gotten to. "No wonder you have one of the titles for the world's strongest. It's been some time since someone has landed such a hit on me."   
  
Muscle and bone have knit themselves back together again, and Reborn tests the limb a few times to be certain. "If you'd like," he monotones, "then I'd be more than happy to do it again."  
  
Fon's grin gets wider, and they launch themselves at each other once more. Only a few blows are exchanged, nothing solid, nothing to sate the bloodlust singing in his veins-   
  
The air suddenly solidifies.   
  
Quite literally, too, not purple poetic prose- the walls of a tight box form out of midair to keep them from moving before it tightens in a heartbeat. There's no room to make enough momentum for a shattering and freeing hit. He and Fon are pressed up against each other until he can smell the copper on the other man's skin. Couples on a wedding night couldn't get so close. Even before the walls shift and wrap into bonds instead of a box, Reborn knows who he'll see outside.   
  
In the darkness of early morning, Fon still stands out with his pale and bared skin. Reborn knows he's only a bit better, his black suit not so eye catching as the other man's favored brilliant red clothing. Viper outdoes them both, easily. Their hood hides all traces of their face in reserved shadows, and, with their black coat, they seem like a wraith who's always belonged in the forest. A ghost story told around fires, a monster made to frighten children into their beds. They're his soulmate, a person he's teased and taken to bed, but like this he can be reminded easily of the fearsome reputation they've nurtured in all the dark cracks of the underworld. It's a reminder of how Mist can be.   
  
"Sorry," Viper says, cold and impenitent. "Was I interrupting something?"  
  
The Mist-formed bonds around him and Fon draw tighter.   
  
Sometimes, he truly doesn't understand what's going through Viper's head. They've always cheered in the past when it's looked as though Fon would get anything even close to an injury. Figuring out the emotions behind the shadows is impossible, but Reborn knows he can deduce their feelings well enough past their hood. They're _upset_ right now, with the way they restrict his breathing. Fon's face is still bleeding. Viper should be over the moon. Is he ever going to understand them?  
  
Taking in what air he can, Reborn answers dryly, "Perhaps slightly."  
  
Fon doesn't look even the slightest bit phased. It's impressive, for a man who's slowly but surely having his ribs crushed and still bleeding out his nostrils. At least it's slowed, but it's not a reassurance when each drip splatters onto his suit. Reborn curls his lip up. "This morning seems to be full of fascinating occurrences," Fon says, voice airy if a little strained. "First Reborn appears, and now you, Viper. I find myself quite fortunate. What has brought you all this way?"  
  
Reborn isn't surprised when Viper doesn't make an immediate response, undoubtedly a glare he's quite familiar with fixed on their face and unseen. He's also not surprised when their answer is a cold "None of your concern". What _does_ catch him off-guard are the words following after. "A little romantic rendezvous, hm?"  
  
His brain crashes into itself. On one hand, he wants to laugh because that's what they think he's doing, and yet, on the other, _that's_ what they think he's doing? He doesn't know where to even begin. It's not often he's caught off guard, which is perhaps half to blame for the way he can only stare at them with his eyebrows raised up. A moment is needed for his mind to pick up its pieces.   
  
Unfortunately, a moment is all Fon needs to open his mouth.   
  
"I certainly wouldn't be opposed to it, my esteemed partner willing."  
  
He's going to kill Fon. The second he can move his limbs or, really, any part of his body, he's going to snap the man's neck for potentially ruining his relationship with his soulmate. Actually, his head is still free, and Reborn is fairly sure he's sunk low enough in his jealousy and anger to make an attempt with his teeth. For now, however, he merely curls his lip up past his teeth in disgust- the closest he'll ever get to baring his teeth and literally _hissing_.   
  
Fon smiles.   
  
It's becoming more clear by the day why Viper loathes him as much as they do.  
  
A disgusted noise erupts from the illusionist's mouth, and the bonds around Reborn and Fon immediately vanish. The two of them land on their feet, no stumbling, and Reborn's first inclination is to snap out a kick towards Fon's knees. Fon evades it, because he'd never make it easy, and he lands by Viper in his evasion, because he exists apparently to get on every one of Reborn's nerves when it comes to his soulmate. The blood on his face has stopped, now, dry along his lips and cracking when he smiles to Viper.  
  
"Of course, I feel very much the same way about _you_ , Viper, if such carnal pleasures have your interest."   
  
Reborn's heart leaps into his throat, a clumsy weight blocking all attempts at air and which makes him nauseous with each beat. His fingers twitch, wanting his gun, wanting Fon's throat, and yet at the same time... It's Viper's choice, and who is he to take it from them? If only their damned hood wasn't in the way, hiding every trace of thought even from his sharp eyes.  
  
It's a relief when they make another annoyed sound, and the way they jerk their head back reveals some of their face again. He can recognize the scrunch of their nose. " _What_!?"  
  
Fon leans back on one foot, his arms swinging relaxed and loose down to his sides. The glint in his eyes is unmistakably amused. Despite that, Reborn doesn't get the feeling he's lying. "I think you're both very attractive, and nothing is more-so to me than someone's skill in combat. Reborn, your fighting style is unique, something I've never see before, and I have no doubt your body is equally impressive as your skill." His grin is absolutely sly now. Having come to terms with the fact Reborn and Viper aren't going to attack him, he makes his way back to the river to lean down and clean his face of blood while still talking.  
  
"As for you, Viper..." His tongue licks the water off of his face as he straightens up. "You appear as quite unassuming, not a fighter at all with your slight frame and general disdain for physical exertion-" Viper says something rude under their breath in Russian about Fon, a horse, and where he can return to, which isn't China. "-yet I've never had the delight of going up against an illusionist. I've often imagined things before, when unable to find suitable partners, yet this is quite intriguing." He straightens up and turns to face both of them again, water still dripping down his chin and following the curve of his chest.  
  
It's a shame a part of Reborn's mind is still dead set on breaking Fon's kneecaps. He makes for an appealing image like this.   
  
"So yes," Fon concludes, mouth now free of blood when he smiles this time. "I don't think there'd be any reason to refuse a chance to bed either of you."   
  
Reborn glances at Viper from the corner of his eyes. Their shoulders have jerked themselves upwards tensely, and their lips are drawn thin in a grimace. It'll take them a second to respond without yelling so he decides to take the reins. "Fon," he says, voice a thin veneer of calm, "most people at least invite those they want to have sex with to dinner instead of hand to hand combat."   
  
Tilting his head to the side, Fon's eyebrows raise up innocently. "Ah... Really?"  
  
He's pressing this intentionally, Reborn realizes then. Fon always does this sort of thing, of course, when there's not a more pressing matter to focus on. He only seems calm and amiable for the first five minutes, maybe sooner, depending on how quickly you catch onto his nonsense. It's a quiet goading, an encouragement for literally anyone at all to give him the thrill of the fight he searches for so much. If either him or Viper is insulted by his words, if they attack him, then he'll be more than happy. At the same time... Reborn doesn't doubt he actually _would_ be perfectly content with a fuck.   
  
The only way he'd lose is if him and Viper simply walked away... A harder thing done than said, considering, even with this knowledge, Reborn still wants to break his nose. Sure, it would be playing right into Fon's hands, but it would make him feel better.   
  
He's wondering if Viper has realized this when they answer at last, lips still thinly drawn. "Who would want to touch _you_?" they say coldly, coat rustling as they cross their arms over their chest. "Find your soulmate already and stop harassing the rest of us with your twisted libido. Do you even know how to pleasure a person?"  
  
The way Fon's smile shifts makes Reborn's blood boil again, and he watches as the man ambles closer to Viper. "By all means, perhaps you would care to discover for yourself and make judgment then." Reborn can't help himself. He can't stop from stepping into place behind Fon and doing what can only be described as _looming_. Fon merely looks back to him with twinkling eyes. "Yes, Reborn?"  
  
Before Reborn can try to break one of his limbs, Viper makes a move. To both men's surprise, the illusionist comes closer with their fingers clinging into Fon's pants. A dagger of betrayal makes its sheathe in his chest. It disappears when Fon gives a small wince. "Ow," he murmurs, not actually hurt so much as voicing a very mild complaint. That's enough to make Reborn lean slightly to the side and glance downwards. The sight he finds makes him smile a little: the back of Viper's heels digging very pointedly into the tops of Fon's slippered feet, toes pointed upwards. "Viper, will you please get off?"  
  
"No."   
  
"Ah." Fon accepts it too easily. Suspicious, Reborn meets the other man's eyes as he glances back to him curiously. It should be a relief there's no sly teasing or glittering amusement. Yet the fact there's just a blank look being directed his way... It puts Reborn on edge, and he narrows his eyes at Fon warily. Everything clicks into place when he stretches his fingers out towards one of Viper's marked cheeks, still keeping eye contact.   
  
That's it, he's _done_.   
  
Viper hisses. Reborn makes a grab for the intrusive arm. The resulting mess of hurried movement and tangled limbs can only be described thusly: a trainwreck.  
  
"Can you please get-"   
  
"If you don't-"   
  
"You two fight obsessed freaks-"   
  
"Viper, your knee please-"   
  
" _Dammit_ , Fon, stop twisting-"   
  
A year of avoiding Viper's kicks means even with Fon's body blocking his sight of them, Reborn still instinctively knows, and moves his kneecap out of the way. He doesn't account for the way Viper's foot hooks into the back of Fon's leg, which leads to Fon getting tangled up in him.... Before he knows it, they're crashing down in a pile into the dirt.  
  
Thank God they're in the middle of the woods with no one else to see this.   
  
In the course of things, Viper is squeezed between him and Fon, and it's like holding onto a panicked cat for all their thrashing. If only he could figure out the puzzle everyone's legs have made, he'd be off in a heartbeat. Before he can tell his partner to stop moving, however, they stop themself. Viper's voice, when they speak, is positively _icy_. "Fon. _What_ is touching my leg?"  
  
"Oh, that?"  
  
" _That_."   
  
If Viper is icy, Reborn is Antarctic. "That better not be what I think it is, Fon."   
  
"Do you want me to lie then?"  
  
Footing finally found, Reborn pushes himself up in the same movement he wrenches Viper off of Fon. It's an opportunity they take to try and smash their heel into Fon's face while they're squirming in his grip. At least Viper isn't the only one disappointed when the martial artist calmly blocks it. "I think everyone is done here," Reborn says, doing his damnedest to lock his darker feelings back away. With Viper here, it's becoming increasingly obvious this will only become a mess instead of the fight he wants.   
  
At least the way Fon's expression drops is something of a consolation prize.  
  
"Let _go_ of me you wombat-" Viper thrashes their way out of his grip, landing on their feet and glowering at him with their lips pursed. "I'm going _back_ , and having espresso with Luce like a _normal_ person." And with that, they whirl away to stomp through the forest. It'd be easy to leave them to it, to continue his fight with Fon and get some satisfaction out of it. Yet when he looks at Viper's back and watches them walk away, a sudden jolt of panic pierces through all his wrath.   
  
What if this ends up another name lost?  
  
Reborn twists on his heel, following after them, and ignores Fon's farewell call of "Tell Luce I'll be back with fish, then."   
  
Viper's storming pace means he actually has to speed up _his_ stride for once, instead of being able to keep up with them by virtue of his long legs alone. "What was that about?" he questions, unable to stop the sharpness to it. Is it his voice or Viper's general bad mood which gets their teeth bared his way?  
  
" _That's_ what I should be asking _you_!" they snap, fists curling at their sides as they try to walk faster. "Breaking your precious controlled schedule to go get some alone time with Fon?!"  
  
Reborn draws himself up, shoulders tense. " _You're_ saying that?" he shoots back, anger overtaking the concern previously rattling around in his chest. "You're the one who suddenly got interested in fighting him in the first place!"  
  
"That's-"   
  
" _And_ it's not just morning sparring! You practically never leave his side, even when it comes to our jobs! It's three in a row now you've taken with him!" There's no burying the green eyed monster now- it's clawed its way out of his chest and up his throat, leering out of his mouth with the words he spits out.  
  
It's an ugly thing. He _knows_ it is. Of course Viper's shoulders jerk up, a definite snarl in their voice. " _Oh_." A venom befitting their name fills the word. "Oh, _I see_. Am I not allowed to have a life outside of you then?"  
  
 _Of course you are._ His boiled over temper has him say, instead, "You're _my_ soulmate!"  
  
"So, what, do you want me on a leash-"   
  
"Who wouldn't be angry-"  
  
"-collar on my neck-"  
  
"-when his partner is paying more attention-"  
  
"-Sorry I can't come out to play, my ignorant ass of a-"  
  
"-to some obnoxious mocking martial artist-"   
  
"Not like I'm an adult who can make my own decisions-"  
  
"-who doesn't even care about them-"   
  
"If I want to start a fight every day-"  
  
"-instead of him!"  
  
"-then I'll do it!"  
  
Their voices rise together, fighting to be overheard, until both of them are close to yelling and Reborn is certain they've scared away some birds. Their breaths are heavy, labored from the intensity of their emotions, and Reborn squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as he looks away from them. This is the exact opposite of what he had meant to do.  
  
Silence, thick and noxious with tension, drapes over them as they make their way back to the cabin. It's a relief when he finds no one out on the porch, for once, although maybe it shouldn't be so surprising. The sun still has yet to rise past the mountaintops. No one gets in their way as they make to their rooms, and Reborn pauses outside his door to watch Viper fume away. When they slam their door, that's when Reborn slips back into his room. A frustrated sigh hisses out between his teeth, and he sets his hat down on the desk. It feels as though he's going to break something from frustration. He needs to calm down. Breathe. His usual schedule is already torn to shreds. He has no qualms in stripping the rest of his now dirtied suit off and heading into the bathroom.   
  
Hot water and steam will help clear his head.   
  
For years now, he's been a man of extremes, and it applies to a lot of things in his life. Baths are no different, and he sets it to positively _scalding_ levels of heat before setting his tense body inside. It's a luxury he can use, when everyone is still going about their routines or sleeping. No one else has had time to use it yet. In a building inhabited by seven people, it's a difficult thing to accomplish sometimes. His sigh this time is heavier as he already feels the effects seeping into his muscles, and Reborn tilts his head back against the edge of the tub.   
  
It's going to have to be him who patches things up. There's no question about it. Reborn rubs at his face wearily thinking about it. They're so stubborn, so ridiculous. He can only hope, in an hour or so, their mood will be at least a little improved. Enough for him to explain some things and talk a little sense into them, that's all he asks for.   
  
He's still going over everything in his head when there's suddenly a knock outside the bathroom door. Not his bedroom door, the bathroom _itself_. Even as it's familiar, one he knows quite intimately, Reborn reaches for his gun sitting nearby anyway as he calls out, "Who is it?"  
  
What an unsurprise it is when Viper opens the door, stepping inside shamelessly and still scowling. More a surprise is their bare body and the change of clothes they dump on his sink besides his neatly folded suit. What a sight they make, lips pouting and nose scrunched up as they go straight to the tub without a word.   
  
"Viper-"   
  
"Shut up," they cut him off, stepping into the water- and immediately hopping back with a yelp and comically wide eyes. " _Ow_ \- dammit, what- _what temperature do you have this set to_!?"  
  
"As high as I could get it." Shaking his head, he holds out his hand and curls his fingers in gesture. "Put your foot up on the rim. I'll heal it."   
  
Their reaction could go either way. It's a relief when they hop closer instead of bristling, and quietly sit on the lip of the tub with great care taken to make sure they don't slip in. Their skin is brilliantly pink where they dipped their foot in, and he waits for them to draw their knee up and balance it on the tub before he reaches over to touch it. He keeps his touch light as his Flame strokes along their skin.  
  
"So," they say suddenly, cutting him off before he can ask anything. His gaze flickers up to them, where they're aggressively not making eye contact. Patiently, he waits them out. The reward for this particular virtue comes a few moments later. "I... might have gotten ahead of myself." Their fingers tap, aggravated and jittery, along their knee. It always intrigues him how much energy they waste on lowkey fidgeting. He supposes it fits them and how their Flame works. "Yet it didn't seem like there was any _other_ reason for you to go hunt down Fon when you could have just asked me to step aside if you wanted a match with him so much."   
  
"Would you have stepped aside so easily, or would you have snapped at me?" he returns, watching as their shoulders hunch up a little. At least Viper knows their personality.   
  
Another bout of silence goes on before they speak again. "Back in the forest, you mentioned something about Fon not caring about me, didn't you?" Reborn doesn't answer. Viper doesn't seem to need one, because they go on. "What was _that_ about? What do _you_ think is going on? I'm trying to grind his face into the ground. I thought it was obvious."   
  
Every bit of red has been soothed away from their flesh, but Reborn keeps his fingers gently rubbing against their skin. "And I thought it was equally as obvious I was trying to do the same, yet you got the opposite impression."  
  
His meaning seems to get through to them. Viper jerks upwards and their fingers grip the tub's edge so they don't fall. "Did you think I was _pursuing_ him!?"  
  
"That's how you first pursued _me_."   
  
"...Ah." Viper glances away again, lips pursed. "That was different."   
  
"How? It doesn't look that way to me."   
  
More silence. Maybe this time... No, Reborn knows how stubborn his soulmate is. It'd be a bit much to expect them to admit they're wrong a second time in the span of a few minutes. Suddenly- "I eat your food." Blinking, he focuses in on them again and how they're looking at him from the corner of their eye. Pouting, they add, "Whether you make it or are paying for it."   
  
"Viper, I've _seen_ you eat his food when he's volunteered for dinner. You _love_ Chinese food."  
  
"But I _hate him_!" The whine in their voice almost makes him laugh. "He makes good food but I _hate him so much_ , Reborn! I can't enjoy it. Everything he touches, he ruins."  
  
"So that's the difference then. Food." He huffs, resting his cheek against his arm as he continues to idly stroke along Viper's ankle.   
  
"...Not only food." Finally, they pull away and get up to their feet. "I'll tell you more when you're done with your bath, so hurry up with it. No dallying like I know you love to do- you can fix yourself up later."   
  
Well, now he's curious. Reborn grabs for his shampoo, talking as he does so. "A couple of questions, while you're getting dressed." A muffled noise of affirmation as they pull on their shirt. "It's earlier for you as well. What had you up and about?"  
  
They glance back at him, raising an eyebrow as they tug their shirt down. "Luce wanted my help prepping some things in the kitchen. She said something about Fon getting fish. While I was helping her, I noticed your mug out on the porch, which had me suspicious."  
  
He wrinkles his nose. "So you tracked me down with your snot mapping."   
  
Viper scoffs. "In light of your delicate sensibilities, you'll be glad to know I didn't use _snot_." They bend down to tug on their socks. "When it's you in particular, I use my tears."   
  
Hm. A curious change, but not one Reborn will protest. It's less disgusting. "Second question, then. What _were_ you trying to do by coming in here naked to join me in the bath?"  
  
By this point, Viper is woefully fully dressed, save for the absence of their coat. Presumably its outside in the rest of his room. His question has them sulkily pout at him over their shoulder. "...I thought you'd like it enough I could catch you off-guard long to talk. Since you're such a sexual person. Now hurry up." Before he can say anything else, they promptly leave and slam the bathroom door shut. Viper doesn't hide the sound of their footsteps, which head towards his bed and stop.   
  
Well, he can break out his rarely used manners, he supposes, at least for Viper. Reborn quickly cleans himself up, probably wasting such wonderfully hot water, and dresses himself just as fast. He doesn't style his curly hair into its usually spiked back look, at least for right now. Viper had tried to seduce him- who knows what they have planned in the other room.   
  
When he comes out, however, they're sitting patiently and look up when he opens the door. " _Finally_. I thought we'd miss it." Even as he's raising an eyebrow, they get up and move to the window. "Come on." Opening it, they climb outside it, floating in midair and waiting for him. Since he can't use Mist to float however he pleases, Reborn has to swing himself up onto the roof- not particularly hard, honestly, but not something he was expecting to do this morning. The leaves have gathered up on the roof and crunch beneath his feet, a quiet reminder to get Skull up here to clean them all off before any snowfall. Such thoughts are background noise in his mind, however. Viper is waiting for him up ahead, seated on a simple platform of Mist at the highest point. Settling down besides them, he raises an eyebrow. The only answer given to him is an elbow to his ribs before they awkwardly lean against his side.   
  
"I don't do _this_ with Fon," they murmur, tugging their hood back. Their eyes are still such a rare thing, for a moment, Reborn just stares at them. How well it fits them, brilliant glittering silver as though a symbol of their shameless avarice, a pale shade that catches every bit of color the light carries. Color and light... Finally tearing himself away from looking at their face, he focuses on the sight in front of him.   
  
Past the yawning expanse of shadowy forest and jagged teeth of the cliffs which help keep this place so secluded, the sun's light is finally stretching up into the sky. What should be simple glorious gold transforms into a rainbow as it brushes against the clouds still hanging fat and content. Even in the sky itself, there's so much more: gentle orange laying against the mountains, passionate scarlet hanging from cumulus underbellies, and the blended shades of blues dip into purple before it's all swallowed up by covetous indigo. One of the rare times of day when the sun and night sky can see each other.   
  
Reborn glances back down to Viper. Their expression isn't petulant, or annoyed, or quietly scheming. There's no room for it with how they keep their gaze focused straight ahead, eyes bright.   
  
He thinks he understands.   
  
There's no protest when he tentatively wraps his arm around them. Together, the two of them sit and watch for a good half hour or so. Beneath their feet, he can hear the rest of the cabin start to come alive. "How long do you want to keep our bond a secret?" he asks after a while, resisting the urge to look back down at them again.   
  
Silence, for a minute. "I suppose it doesn't matter," Viper sighs. "...Is that something you want to do, letting everyone else know?"  
  
"Yes," he answers honestly. "I'm proud we're soulmates. It doesn't bother me if any of them are aware of our bond." It takes a pause before he supplies, "And... It might help keep my jealousy in check. Knowing others know."   
  
"Ridiculous." Viper shakes their head and suddenly seems satisfied with something, getting up to their feet. Their hood gets tugged back up before he can get a better look at their face and what's going through their mind. "It doesn't matter," they repeat, making their way down the roof.   
  
The mist platform is dismissed, but by then Reborn is already on his feet and following them. "So is that a go ahead?"  
  
"Isn't that what I said?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, no."  
  
They glance back at him with a frown. "It was obviously one," they murmur before dropping past the edge of the roof. When he glances down, they're slipping back into his bedroom window again. Exactly like Viper- stubborn and never seeming to understand not everyone plays by their rules. He swings himself back in, expecting them to be already waiting to slip out the door. Instead, they're right there by the window waiting to take him by the sleeve. Surprised and curious, he lets himself be pulled along back to the bed. Pushed even, their slim hands shoving him until he's seated with his back against the wall. Once more, Viper slides their hood back. Something awkwardly genuine is in their expression, but it can't beat the determined twist of their mouth he's so familiar with.   
  
"There's one more thing I don't do with Fon, no matter what weird kinks he gets from fighting." Slowly, their fingers slide along his knees and nudge them apart until Viper can kneel on the mattress as well between his legs. They can't _quite_ stare at him head-on, peering at him from beneath their eyelashes. "If you don't mind being a little late to breakfast."  
  
What is it about this that's so endearing him? Their fumbling attempts at resolution, the clumsiness in their romantic moments- the him from a few years ago surely wouldn't have imagined this as attractive. Then again, the him of a few years ago didn't know Viper. He hadn't known of the stubborn way they refused to budge on things, or how every romantic gesture he'd made had been greeted with a suspicious purse of their lips. The past him wouldn't understand why this is important.  
  
Even this gesture is good enough, without the offer of sex they know is so appealing to him. No, Fon _certainly_ doesn't get to experience any of this. The ugly beast loosens in his chest, asleep and content. In turn, Reborn's lips tilt in a smile that's sly and pleased in equal measure. What a good thing he'd listened to them for once and not taken the time to do up his hair. He has a suspicion the loose curls falling around his face are going to get all the more messy.   
  
"I think this once," he hums, reaching over to curl his fingers in their coat and encourage them closer, "I can miss breakfast."   
  
  
  
  
  
"Where _were_ you two?" Skull shoots the second Viper and Reborn enter the doorway of the communal dining room. An asinine question, really, in Reborn's highly professional opinion. It assumes he's at the level where he can demand anything out of either him _or_ Viper, for one thing, and it makes the potentially fatal mistake of thinking it's any of his business. The rest of their number show why Reborn can tolerate them so much more. Not a single one of them seems to care, save perhaps Lal's sigh but he suspects that's more at Skull as well.   
  
Reborn arches an eyebrow, more than enough to make the stuntsman flinch back. He should thank the stars Reborn doesn't do worse, but what can he say? His good mood has a constant reminder in the form of a pleasurable ache at the base of his back and in his thighs he's made no effort to heal with his Flames. That sort of thing is invisible to anyone else. After all, his clothes are still in excellent condition as always and he's even done his hair properly where it's hidden beneath his usual fedora. No one else but him and Viper know of it, and there's no words to explain the contentedness such knowledge brings him.   
  
In contrast, Viper is subtly but _absolutely_ in a bit more of a state. They way they practically frazzle themself probably has done more than the actual sex they'd both finished not ten minutes prior. Their hood mostly hides the messy state of their hair, but it can't quite hide the flush on their cheekbones no matter how much they've tried to tug it in order to do so. Their snappish reply matches their bristle. "Shut your mouth, it's none of your business, I was busy _doing_ something!"  
  
...It's too good a chance to pass up. They _did_ give their consent.  
  
"I'm 'something'," he purrs.  
  
Viper yells. Skull yells. Lal yells, but at least her yelling has some sort of coherency to it, in this case being "God _dammit_ Reborn!" which is more a hint she's annoyed at the joke than anything. Verde sinks further into his books, blatantly and aggressively trying to ignore the commotion. Behind all of it is Luce's laughter, a bright and brilliant sound like she's been holding it in for ages. Reborn dares a subtle glance towards Fon, but the other man seems endlessly amused with one raised sleeve only partially hiding his smile.   
  
"You two are _soulmates_!?" Skull finally squawks out, oblivious to the orange juice he's spilled over his gloves. Reborn pulls himself out of his thoughts.  
  
"A bit presumptuous to make that guess just on one sex joke," he says smoothly, "But yes."  
  
"Didn't anyone _else_ know?" Lal grumbles, and the room goes silent again.   
  
Viper gets their mouth to work again. "How did _you_ know!?"  
  
"His room is right _besides_ mine!" she shoots out, a dozen kinds of exasperated as she slumps back in her chair. "I have literally heard you two having sex!"  
  
Watching Viper's face get more crimson is an utter delight, and Reborn is only slightly disappointed when they tug their hood down over it all. "I am going to kill everyone in this room," they mutter.   
  
"Please don't, I'm busy," Verde finally contributes, still not bothering to look up.   
  
Sighing, hood easing back a little, Viper seems to give into the situation and makes their way over to one of the free chairs. It doesn't escape Reborn's notice there's one besides it, for once, available as well. They're both between Lal Mirch and Luce, who smiles when she catches Reborn's eye. It makes him huff out a soft laugh as he tips his hat and slides into the chair besides Viper, in time to hear them start up again. "Did anyone _else_ know, then?"  
  
To no one's surprise, Luce and Fon both raise their hands. Well, _almost_ no one's surprise. Skull's mouth is still dropped open in shock as he looks around the table before his eyes land on Verde. The scientist continues to scratch away on his paper. It's debatable if he's even aware of anything but, eventually, he finally grits out a sigh and taps his glasses back up his nose with his pen. "In order to ensure you do not receive a mistaken impression," he says, words given at a pace so slow it's obvious for whose 'benefit' it is, "allow me to explain. I did not know because I did not _care_ to pursue that particular investigation in comparison to all the better ways I could be using my time. _You_ did not know because you are _oblivious_."  
  
"What does that-"  
  
"Checkerface delivered some more work for us, it seems," Luce cuts in smoothly, waving some folders in one hand. It seems to take a bit out of her to lean forward with the bump developing quite noticeably in her middle, but she still sets the folders in the middle of the table. "I know there are some very exciting personal revelations being given, but we are professionals. Time to focus."   
  
Talk of Reborn and Viper are nudged away in favor of going through the details and objectives present for this round of work. It's easy enough of a shift. They _are_ professionals, after all.   
  
Even when Viper, without much fanfare, takes the job that pairs them up with Reborn and Luce.  
  
He doesn't say anything.   
  
He only smiles.


	7. Viva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, there's a somewhat graphic pregnancy scene in the latter half of this if that's something that might be a problem.

Romantic _anything_ , Viper decides fairly early on, is hard and ridiculous and annoying. They, better than anyone, know how fickle and overly complicated other people can be.   
  
Jealousy for no reason. Never knowing if a gesture would work or mysteriously backfire. Idiots who for some reason decide to try and boil themselves alive.   
  
_People_. Honestly. If Reborn hadn't accepted their peace offerings, given in bulk because _something_ had to stick, then Viper is fairly certain they would have called everything off. To hell with soul bonds. Marks on the skin or a lack of colorblindness shouldn't count as legally binding contracts!  
  
But Reborn does.   
  
He lets them into his bathroom with only mild exasperation, and curls around them as they try to memorize every subtle shade in the sky, and spreads out for them with an arched spine, moans echoing in his chest, gentle pink and glorious red adding color to pale skin...   
  
Things go back to normal. At least, Viper thinks things go back to normal. Reborn, more than anything else, has changed that definition for them. The real problem is trying to figure out how to keep the status quo from being disrupted _again_. They stay away from Fon, because that's the obvious choice, and... Well. They aren't getting anywhere in their fights. He's still as annoyingly smiley as usual. But they'll _practice_ , and when the time comes that his condition won't matter to _their_ work...   
  
Such thoughts are something they have to shake their head out of often. Fon doesn't matter. What matters is making sure not to repeat a Fon. Viper has a plan for that. It's all a matter of hammering out the specifics, and once you know that, well, then you know _exactly_ what the problems are. It's a plan that absolutely doesn't involve yelling at their soulmate in the middle of the forest and scaring birds.  
  
Only there's a problem.   
  
"I hope he plans on paying me for _wasting my time_ ," they grumble after a straight month of no contact from Checkerface and, importantly, no new jobs. Autumn has long since passed their little lodge by. These days, a blanket of snow is draped across everything with no shelter. Curled up in a chair by the nice roaring fire, Viper eyes the scene visible from one of the windows. It goes knee high all around, and yet there's still a determined path carved out by Lal Mirch in her morning recon workouts. She'd backhand the devil himself if he tried to get in her way, frankly. "This wait is getting ridiculous."   
  
Luce sets down a platter of bocconotto on the small table besides them. "Cabin fever setting in so soon?"  
  
"I don't think it's too bad," Skull offers as he rolls over away from the fireplace himself, crawling to get to the platter. "We deserve a break, for all the good work we do."   
  
Scowling, Viper kicks at his head to keep him away from the bocconotto. His yelp when their heel connects with his temple is firmly ignored. "We work on _commission_ , you lazy slob. If I'm not working, then I'm not making money." Before, when they were freelancing, it wasn't so much of a problem. They could take a break now and then for their research. It's tempting, actually, to leave the lodge and go back home, network, find something to whittle away the time.   
  
Except then they would potentially miss out on one of Checkerface's ludicrously high paying jobs, assuming he ever appears again.   
  
"Maybe he died," Lal offers, the apathy in her tone suggesting this isn't an idea that strikes at her heart much. Instead, she's focusing on sharpening her combat knife. Viper doesn't know why. It already seems sharp enough to cut someone's shadow off the floor. "With the kind of jobs he sends us on, there has to be someone who wants him dead."   
  
"Who wants who dead?" Reborn drawls as he walks through the door. Promptly, he heads for the tray of bocconotto and Viper adjusts themself accordingly. That is to say, they sprawl along the armrests and aggressively kick at Reborn when he reaches for the pastries. With one hand, he bats away their heels. With the other, he smacks Skull's own attempt to finally snatch one. Whining, Skull retreats.   
  
"This isn't fair, they're ganging up on me!"   
  
"I think that only counts if they weren't fighting each other as well, Skull," Luce murmurs, sinking into the couch with a sigh. Her hands rest on her swollen stomach. "We were simply talking about our missing benefactor, Reborn. You know, there _is_ enough bocconotto for everyone."   
  
"No," is all Viper has to offer, still preoccupied with kicking Reborn's fingers away. Skull makes another bid for it, only for Reborn to smoothly draw his gun out with his apparently designated "idiot stuntsman punishment" hand.   
  
"Oh come _on_!"   
  
"You could survive so long as I didn't hit a vital spot," Reborn retorts smoothly, finally grabbing Viper's ankle and tugging them up. Immediately, a dome cover hides the bocconotto from view. He glances down at it for a moment, raises one eyebrow, and looks back to them. Viper crosses their arms.   
  
"You're banned," they inform him.   
  
"Oh, am I now?"  
  
"You and everyone in this house, besides Luce." Viper pauses and considers something. "And Lal Mirch."   
  
"Why _Lal_?" Skull complains. Since he has a gun still being pointed at him, he's taken to sprawling on the floor in blatant melodramatic misery.   
  
"Because I'm making things up to her."  
  
"Is this about the sex thing?" Lal asks, finally putting away her sharpener.  
  
"Yes."   
  
Wordlessly, Lal holds out one hand. Lightning fast, a tentacle slips out from under Viper's armchair and goes beneath the tray cover to fling a pastry at her.   
  
"Favoritism," Skull accuses.   
  
"Last chance, Viper," Reborn says idly, tapping his fingers against their boot.   
  
Upstairs, something explodes.   
  
By this point, the only person who still reacts is Skull. He jolts, eyes wide. In contrast, the rest of them barely move at all. Lal groans and sinks her face into one hand, while Luce gives an expectant hum. Reborn and Viper exchange A Look. This is what they get for housing with a scientist whose hobbies include breaking the laws of physics. They should have built a separate cabin to put him in when they still had the weather for it.  
  
"Is everyone- ah." Braid still swinging, Fon pauses where he's poked his head into the room. He takes in the whole scene: Lal with a knife at the ready just in case and a bocconotto poking halfway out of her mouth. Skull still sprawled out on the ground as graceful as a cat, which means 'bewildered jackass'. Reborn, unperturbed by the explosion, still lazily holding Viper upside down by the ankle.  
  
Luce waves.   
  
"So no one is injured," he continues after a moment, amused at what he's stumbled onto. Cocky bastard. "That's good to see. Was I interrupting something?"  
  
"Pastry negotiations," Reborn drawls, adjusting his grip on Viper's ankle.   
  
"There's nothing to negotiate-" Which is around the time that Reborn's pinky manages to reach past their short boot and brush against their bare skin. A flutter of heat that reaches deep down to their bone, an unexpected burst of pleasure from the sole feeling of him touching them- Viper strangles the words in their throat to block off the sound threatening to tumble out. It's enough of a blow to their concentration that the tray cover loses enough of its realness... Instead, it's only as real as someone lets it be.   
  
So they're not particularly surprised when they get over themself and scowl at Reborn, who looks particularly smug as he pops a bocconotto into his mouth. Who knows when he puts away his gun. Jerking their leg out of his grasp and floating, Viper grumbles. "I can't believe you."   
  
Skull is still blinking from his place on the ground, although to his credit he _is_ finally getting to his feet. "Wait, he reached through the platter-"  
  
"He cheated is what he did."   
  
"You mean materializing a cover doesn't count as such?" he points out.   
  
Luce cuts in before the great Second Pastry War can begin. "Someone should go check in on Verde, if only to make sure he hasn't seriously injured himself this time."   
  
"He could actually kill himself, " Fon adds.   
  
"Tragic." Even as he's saying it, Reborn is more preoccupied with cleaning the sugar off of his fingers.   
  
Lal is a little more blatantly sarcastic. "I'll go find my daintiest black lace for his funeral, then."   
  
Slow thudding from the stairs signals that it's.... _probably_ Verde, so he's _probably_ not dead. Fon shuffles further inside the room to make space when the scientist appears. He's not nearly as fire damaged as Viper suspects at least a couple of people in the room wish he would be. Not a hint of wear on his glasses, in fact. Then again, Viper knows him. He probably had a spare somewhere. "I'm glad to see I have such caring colleagues," he says dryly, annoyed but not surprised.   
  
Before anyone can once again point out the creepy 'bugs in a jar' way he looks at them sometimes, Luce forges on. "You look rather well for that sort of explosion, although I'm not complaining."  
  
"Mm, I had the proper precautions in place." For once, he actually looks sheepish- eyebrows crinkled together, shoulders nudging upwards. "I cannot say the same for the absinthe fountain you generously lent me, unfortunately."  
  
"Wait," Skull interrupts, blinking, "Luce, you have an absinthe fountain?"   
  
"Had, now," Verde coughs into his fist.   
  
" _Why_?"  
  
A soft patient sigh flutters out from her, not disturbing Luce's smile in the slightest. "Well, I did used to drink before I became pregnant, Skull."   
  
"But that makes people hallucinate!"   
  
"No more than pouring energy drinks into alcohol does."   
  
"Is _that_ why we have a crate of Red Bull in the storage room!?" Lal bursts out. This is a woman who Viper has seen punch out a shark. For once, she sounds horrified. "Skull, what the dick is _wrong_ with you?"   
  
"Listen, it tastes really good! What do _you_ drink?"   
  
"I make my own thing." Lal's shoulders jerk up sharply, an annoyed shrug. "Just a bit of wormwood and liquor, no big deal."   
  
The room goes quiet. Somehow, the word 'wormwood' shouldn't belong in a sentence referring to alcohol, but here they are. It's the most suspicious thing that's ever been said. This is possibly because Lal, as a soldier, brings to mind sticking the actual plant into a bottle and calling it a day. Considering their careers, the silence is kind of impressive. After a second, Viper speaks up.   
  
"So you make your own drinks as well, Lal?" they mention casually, as if she hadn't mentioned a monster of her own.   
  
"Doesn't everyone?" Fon offers, and there's another bout of silence. Everyone is subtly glancing over everyone else, and Viper can see the slow realization spreading. Of course all of them would have their own take on how to get ten different kinds of intoxicated when normal drinks won't do. _Of course_. Why is anyone even surprised.   
  
The only exception, as usual, is Luce, trying to smother the glittering amusement in her eyes. She's only half successful. "You know, since we don't have any work, it might not hurt to indulge in a little... cultural exchange. I won't drink anything, even if it weren't the baby I think it best someone stay sober."  
  
Because it's Luce, they end up all agreeing.   
  
Fifteen minutes pass, and by then they've rearranged the furniture, got the table in place in front of the fire, and assembled a half dozen bottles. The last bit is looking at everyone's cars for the first time again. Verde adds a completely opaque white bottle that looks way too clean, right besides one of Lal's battered hip flasks. It's with a flourish that Reborn provides something that _looks_ like wine so it probably isn't, and Viper tries to kick him in the back of the leg for being a show off. (They miss.) Right beside his, Viper puts their own reused bottle which still has some of the label sticking determinedly to the glass despite their previous efforts to scrape it off. It still looks better than Skull's, who seems to have taken to hiding his own booze in a _shampoo bottle_. Fon's is all smooth clay and elegant Chinese characters carved into the surface. Every single one is gathered around the platter of bocconotto, after Luce quietly nudged Viper to let up with the illusion.  
  
It would be too easy to start off with the heavy hitters, so, instead, they begin their bickering for the night early over either white wine (Reborn and Fon's booze of choice, with Skull trying to mimic them despite the faces he makes) or horrendously cheap beer because some of them have no sense of taste. Viper gladly puts themself in that category.   
  
They also gladly suggest, "So I'm fine with most things being randomized, but Skull should get whatever toxin Verde puts in his booze."  
  
A murmur of agreement goes around the table, with Skull's shriek piercing through. "Why _me_ again!?"  
  
"I don't put _toxin_ in my liquor," Verde counters.   
  
Lal is ready for it. " _But_ , did you first make it in a lab?"  
  
Tapping his glasses down to the very tip of his nose, Verde peers over the rim of them with his lips screwed up. " _Possibly_."  
  
A finger is pointed at Skull with a captain's authority. "Skull, you're drinking it."   
  
" _Why_?" He slumps across the table, fingers still loosely curled around what Viper thinks might be his third glass of wine. "How come you don't try to make Reborn do it? He has, the, that sun thing. He can survive things!"   
  
"Can anyone get Reborn to do something he doesn't want to do?" Fon muses, eyes shining slyly.   
  
Reborn flicks a finger in Fon's direction. "No." Next, in Skull's. "And no." Ignoring the latter's protests, he takes a long sip of his wine before speaking again. "You do so much boasting about that ability of yours, are you losing confidence in it _now_?"  
  
A pause, and Skull squints across the table. Finally, he huffs. " _Zut_. Fine. Give me Verde's dumb drink."   
  
That's around the time they all finish off their glasses or cans, and Luce pats Skull on the back as she sets a small shot glass in front of him. "You let them talk you into it, dear." As Skull bemoans his life choices, Luce passes around the rest of the drinks. Viper glances into their glass with a little suspicion. It doesn't _look_ too unusual from most booze. There's that weird yellow color common to most types. Leaning closer, Viper's nose twitches as they take in the scent. Akin to rubbing alcohol. Alright, they can deal with that. Once everyone has a glass in front of them, Skull glowers.   
  
"If I'm being forced to drink Verde's booze, then I shouldn't have to go first. Someone else should."  
  
Another casual glance around the table done by all of them. Skull, Lal, and Verde have already proven to have highly questionable taste, and that's half their number as it is. Who knows what Frankenstein'd booze they have at their fingertips. Still, the poor idiot has a point. He _has_ taken one of the hell drinks off the table and into his own glass. Might as well take pity on him this once.  
  
To hell with it. "If I'm going to make myself miserable, I may as well get it over with," Viper grumbles, and glances up accusingly at Reborn. "If I die from alcohol poisoning and you don't do anything, I'll guarantee that I make your life horrible from the afterlife."  
  
"You're not going to die."   
  
"Yes, because you better not let me." Threats to their soulmate made, Viper picks up the glass and gives the liquid inside a swirl. It still doesn't look special or particularly toxic. If they were inclined to be an optimist, they'd take that as a good sign. Viper isn't an optimist. Sighing, they take a sip.   
  
Once, Viper took on a job that involved a tire hotel, arson, and murder via arson. The smell that stuck to their clothes never left, and eventually _those_ had to be burned and disposed of.   
  
After a stunned half-second, they slap a hand to their mouth and screw their eyes shut. An indescribable sound claws itself out of their throat to flop onto the table. "Oh my _god_ I should have broken my legs instead of- _the taste isn't leaving_." It's the tire fire all over again, only in liquefied form, and in their mouth. One of their knees jerks up into the table, rattling the various glasses.   
  
From inbetween their squints and blinks, they think they sure a blur of green that's probably Verde lean over the table. "So, in the event that you _do_ expire-" Yeah, it's Verde. "-try and use your last breaths to describe how you're feeling. For science."   
  
Viper says something rude in Spanish behind their fingers and rising nausea. Ever helpful as usual, Reborn translates, "Shut up, Verde."   
  
"Sounded like 'suck a rattlesnake's dick' to me," Lal suggests, more bluntly helpful. "But come on, suck it up. You have to describe it for the rest of us." That almost certainly wasn't established, but Viper supposes that's what they get for being the idiot to suggest going first. Still, they try to swallow back any bile and put their words together.   
  
"I think I've lost sensation in my tongue, for one thing."   
  
"Oh fuck," Skull groans from where he's laid his head on the table right besides his shot of Verde's Special.   
  
"Nail polish remover tastes less bitter," they continue, accepting a bocconotto that Reborn passes to them, "and would probably kill me kinder, frankly. Luce, _what_ did you give me?" Miserably, they stuff the pastry into their mouth and gesture for Reborn to keep them coming until their taste buds are back to some sort of normal.   
  
Distinctly apologetic, Luce spreads her fingers out. "That was Lal's, I'm afraid." Viper groans. Three monster drinks they'd heard of, one taken off the table, and they'd _still_ had the bad luck to draw Lal's.   
  
"It's not that bad!" the soldier protests, and pauses at the look Viper sends her across the table. "Alright, an acquired taste."   
  
"Like death is an acquired taste," Skull mutters, and yelps when he gets punched in the arm.   
  
"Listen, I'll go next, then," Lal sighs. She glances down to her glass and makes a face. "Even if the color seems kind of off... But whatever. I can handle it." Taking a deep breath, she tosses her head back and downs the whole thing. A middle finger is made when Reborn gives a teasing impressed whistle. No immediate reaction is forthcoming this time, either. Instead, a puzzled grimace contorting her face, Lal pulls the glass away and stares down at it. "What the hell..." A light goes off in her eyes. "Skull!"   
  
"I didn't do anything!"   
  
"You made this drink is what you did." Lal sticks out her tongue, disgusted. "I can taste the bull, eugh. What _else_ is in this thing?"   
  
Finally pushing himself up, Skulls rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "S'just shine."   
  
" _Moon_ shine?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
Lal presses her face into one hand and doesn't say anything. Considering what Viper knows she drinks now, they're fairly positive that doesn't mean Skull's booze is inherently horrible. It's merely that it's an energy drink and Canadian moonshine sounds like a horrifying combination with terrifying implications of the future. Hopefully Lal isn't an energetic drunk. While Luce pats her back, Viper takes pity on her and tries to kick Reborn in the ankle. (They miss.) "Alright, you love to boast so much, _you_ go next."   
  
Perfectly at ease despite the descriptions that have gone around about their god-forsaken booze choices, Reborn taps his fingers along his glass. "Alright," he says, a trace of amusement diluted through his otherwise cool tone, and takes a sip. Impatiently, Viper waits to see if his ridiculous controlled expression so much as _wavers_. Honestly, it's something they're looking forward to. So calm, so collected, they practically live for the moments where he falls apart even a little. It's why taking him to bed is better than the illusions they've used to satisfy passing urges before. That well made mask of his falls apart when they're together, a sight no one else gets to see.   
  
As it turns out, their greed extends to their soulmate, too. Who knew?   
  
To Viper's disappointment, Reborn's only reaction is a pause and a slow raise of his eyebrow. To their _surprise_ , he promptly glances down at them. "Viper, I think I found yours."   
  
"What?"  
  
"You're the only person in this room who I can imagine purposefully making their liquor as _spicy_ as humanly possible." He wrinkles his nose. "I think this could melt a _key_." From across the table, Skull has started to look horrified again. Well, that's something, at least. A consolation prize. Viper accepts it, even as they huff a little in annoyance. Oh well, they're publicly soulmates now. They can always get the reaction they want when the two of them are alone.   
  
"Alcohol already burns when it goes down. I simply made it the kind of burn I like."  
  
"Well, I can't wait to try it over Skull's booze," Lal sighs, ignoring his protest. Instead, she points accusingly at Verde and Fon. "Alright, you two, rock-paper-scissors, brawl, whatever, decide which of you is going next."  
  
For some mysterious reason, lanky scientist Verde has no interest in brawling a world famous and undefeated martial artist. An agreement is made, and both of them down their drinks together. What a disappointment that Fon's drink of choice, in the hands of Verde, seems to bbe a very peculiar tea, and that Reborn's drink actually does taste like a very potent wine according to Fon. When argument breaks out, inevitably spurred by Lal and Viper who clearly got spurned by the god of luck, Luce and Reborn _laugh_ at them. Viper takes back every vaguely pleasant thing they've thought about the two Italians. Fifteen minutes of it pass before Reborn finally cuts in.  
  
"Everyone is going to drink everything by the end of the night anyway," he says, interrupting Lal's incredulous statement about tea and alcohol. "So let's move onto the main attraction for this round. You're not getting away from this, Skull."   
  
Having perked up at the argument, Skull immediately sinks into his chair with a groan at being called out. "How come you couldn't just _forget_?"  
  
"Because I'm not you. Now drink."   
  
"Don't make me start up a 'chug' chant," Lal threatens.   
  
"Ugh, fine, fine!" Trepidatiously, he stares into his glass. Viper isn't entirely sure what's in it. Luce, to no one's surprise, had come prepared with opaque glasses. Is the liquor itself worrying, or the fact that it's Verde's? Assuming it doesn't actually manage to incapacitate Skull, Viper supposes they'll all find out tonight. Before Lal carries through with her threats, Skull takes a deep breath and slams the drink back. Viper isn't sure what they're expecting. Considering Verde, it could very well be nearly anything. If Skull turned into an octopus, they wouldn't be surprised. Yet Skull doesn't transform. He also doesn't keel over dead, turn blue, spontaneously combust, or even retch. He _does_ look bewildered, the kind that is often toeing the edge of falling straight into the disgust abyss.   
  
Right as Viper is starting to wonder if it's caused catatonia, Skull says in quiet horror, "Verde, is this, like, _semen_?"  
  
What a good turn of fortune it is that Viper finished their drink first, because the only thing they end up choking on is their own spit and air. It's hard to cough and laugh at the same time, and Viper practically falls against Reborn as he helps smack their back. Around them, they can hear the small explosion that's mostly Lal yelling "God _dammit_ , Verde!" and Verde snapping back "It's not _semen_ , you reactionary dolt!" By the time their airways have cleared out, Luce has hushed everyone down. Skull still seems to be highly distrustful of whatever is probably sticking to the inside of his glass.   
  
"Why is it white and slimy?" the stuntsman whines, squinting with his nose wrinkled up. Besides him, Verde sighs. "I mean, I've never tasted, you know, done that kind of thing before-" Reborn and Viper exchange raised eyebrows. "But, this just seems like... this is what it'd taste and feel like."  
  
"Just say you've never sucked cock before, Skull, no one here _cares_ ," Lal sighs while Verde rubs at the bridge of his nose. Poor him. This is probably why he stays holed up in his room so often, honestly. Viper would probably feel more pity if this wasn't hilarious to watch.   
  
"It's a _semi-fluid_ ," the scientist finally grits out, taking another sip of the strange booze-tea that's in his glass. "Yogurt is the closest thing in consistency to it, and I'm sure you've had _that_ in your life."   
  
While Luce gathers up the empty glasses again for the next round, Viper gives a thoughtful hum. "So," they say, still watching Skull carefully, "it was salty?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Verde's drink. Was it salty?"  
  
"Uh, yeah."   
  
Viper's grin is slow but obvious. "If you've never tasted it before, then why do you have an idea of how semen is salty?"   
  
They don't actually doubt him, honestly. Skull is painfully honest, in a kind of oblivious way. No sense of when to keep some things to himself. If he actually knew how it tasted from the start, he'd probably not have quite the reaction that he did. Yet it's worth it to see Skull flail and go bright red. Yeah, they're a horrible person.   
  
"I just READ about it!"   
  
" _Oh_." That's Reborn, snorting as he takes his next glass. No surprise there. Same as them, he's _also_ a right bastard. "He's read about it."  
  
Red really does clash horribly with Skull's usual color scheme. "What, you've done more!?"  
  
Oh boy. He's picked the absolute worst person to play chicken with. Viper isn't even remotely surprised when Reborn drapes an arm around their shoulders, not bothering to be subtle in how he pulls them closer to his body. Quirking up an eyebrow, Reborn fairly purrs out his words. "Absolutely." And with that, he downs his shot. The picture of smugness, Viper raises their own glass in a private cheers. There's not even the slightest attempt for them to hide their smirk when Skull groans and hides his face in his hands.   
  
" _God_ , you two have gotten worse ever since you got open with this!"   
  
"More that Reborn has gotten worse, and Viper lets him get away with it," Lal says, shaking her head and cradling her drink in one hand. "We should have enjoyed the relative peace we had before _someone_ \- and I'm betting it was you, Fon, you always look too amused- encouraged them to come out with their bond."   
  
Another soft laugh from Fon. "Seeing soulmates united is a pleasant thing," he murmurs, glancing down into his glass. "Ah- the semen drink."   
  
"If you keep calling my drink that, then I can promise you all I know how to poison our water supply."   
  
While Verde makes threatening glares at Fon, Skull seems to gradually get over his embarrassment and glances around the table. "So... We already know those two found each other, apparently, but... anyone else?"  
  
A chorus of 'no's go around the table, until it reaches ever patient Luce. Fingers resting along her stomach, she smiles. "Oh, I found mine some time ago."   
  
This seems to make sense to Skull, who gives a nod. He'd looked a bit a ease with the negative chorus to his question, and it hasn't changed with Luce's answer. Then again, it is her. Unlike the rest of them, she's not really the asshole sort. A bit of teasing dickery from time to time, Viper's learned, but that's it as far as it concerns the rest of them. "Oh, right, the dad, right?" he supplies without waiting for an answer. "Is he alright with you doing this kind of thing?"  
  
"I couldn't say. You see, he's dead."   
  
Viper can practically see the silence that envelopes the table fall onto Skull's head like an anvil from god, but they don't say anything. They just drink, watching the table curiously. Everyone loses someone, eventually, and being in the mafia raises those chances. They can't really say they're surprised. At least there's Skull's sputtered out apologies to watch. He can't even get out actual words. "But- soulmates-!"   
  
"Don't always end happily," Fon finishes, showing he at least has more common sense than Skull if absolutely _nothing_ else. Idly, he swirls the (semi) liquid in his glass. "Your soulmate is the one who will change your life, or who you would always meet regardless. No one ever said that such things were necessarily _good_." With a hum, he takes a sip and tilts his head thoughtfully. "For all the appearance, this is quite pleasant, Verde."   
  
  
  
And that's the first hour they pass by.  
  
  
  
The second hour is very much the same, with the shining glorious difference being... Well. It's an obvious thing, Viper reflects as they lazily and shamelessly leech off of Reborn's body heat. What else happens when you pass around six different kinds of potent alcohol? It's only an hour, yet, through their pleasant haze, Viper can see the flush along Skull's face and how Verde's glasses are lopsided.   
  
Everyone is still talking about soulmates without nudging into awkward territory again. Or, rather, Lal has the bottom of a wine bottle pressed against her forehead as she leans back in her chair, and is growling about the concept. "I mean, just, you have all these idiots who come through, and they find the _slightest_ thing to argue that you're their soulmate! Like, okay, kid, you can say I changed your life, but, I'm a _trainer_!" She gestures viciously with the wine bottle. Skull ducks instinctively. "It's my _job_ to change your life, because I'm teaching you how to not lose it in high risk situations! That's not a bond you're feeling, it's... damn... gunfire ringing in your ears."   
  
"And _that's_ why you become a recluse," Verde drawls, spinning his glass around on the table. "Fate is... scientifically unsound. It's not a proven thing! I _still_ think soulbonds are just... not as mystic as they seem." Worked up now, he turns to Luce to tug at her sleeve like a child. "Luce. Luce. There's no evidence for destiny. It's. It's not a thing."  
  
"Trying to stick to your own doesn't work," Viper grumbles, glass tapping against their teeth when they take another drink. " _I_ tried. I tried, but then, this ass killed my client, and it was the worst. He owes me money."   
  
"Is that why you're sitting on his lap?"   
  
Blinking sluggishly, they glance down at what should be their chair and is, indeed, their soulmate's lap. Against their back, they can feel more than hear the pleased rumble echoing in his chest. "Oh," they mutter, trying to figure out when this had happened and after which drink he'd decided to link his fingers around their stomach.  
  
While they puzzle out this mystery, Skull jolts upright hard enough to nearly fall out of his chair. "Wait, what if that means- what if we're each other's soulmates!? Because, if Luce found hers, than, there's four of us left, and we could be like them!" An accusing point is leveled towards Viper and Reborn. Viper barely takes note of it. They're practically on Reborn's other side, they'd have noticed that they were doing it, wouldn't they?   
  
"Skull," Lal groans, "we'd all damn well know if we had found our soulmates."   
  
"Oh. Good." He slumps in his seat. "Because, no offense- wait, no, all the offense, but you guys are assholes." That's finally enough to make Verde turn away from bothering Luce and to get Viper to look up again. Reborn snickers.   
  
Fon, as always, only smiles. "I'm afraid, Skull, that this particular group is proud of such a title."   
  
"The type to make a toast to it," Verde promises, raising his glass with a smug smirk that would be more infuriating if his glasses weren't on the tip of his nose and Viper wasn't drunk to the point of apathy.   
  
They're definitely drunk enough to snigger alongside Reborn, raising their glass up as well. "Lal. Lal, make a toast." They're not sure why they're determined that Lal make the toast. Luce is the better option, in all honesty, on the fact that she's not drunk. But maybe that's exactly why she can't make the toast. Either way, Lal is already pouring more wine booze into her glass. There might actually be a smile on her face, easing up her usual stern features. Even as drunk as they are, Viper doesn't miss the way Fon can't stop looking to her with a grin that's not as restrained as usual. Bluh. They'd gag, if they weren't on Reborn's lap.   
  
"Alright," Lal starts, shaking her hand free of the liquor that had splattered onto her hand. "Alright, I have this. Raise up your glasses, you dirtbags, and cheers to all of us being complete and utter assholes, but at least we're assholes drinking interesting booze together and not assholes alone drinking cheap beer."   
  
"Cheers to Verde's semen drink," Viper sneers.   
  
"Cheers to the poison water you'll be finding in your bathtub tomorrow morning."   
  
Beneath their almost friendly assholery, Skull is starting to laugh. Viper guesses it's that or continuing to be horrified. "Cheers to all of you being freaks who think casual threats are normal!"  
  
Not a single one of them actually gets their glasses to clink.   
  
  
  
Their third hour, to no one's surprise whether drunk or sober, is filled with arguments. Viper doesn't even try to pretend they're keeping track of any of it. Frankly, it's all over their head, literally and figuratively. As far as they can tell, there's Argument Number 1, which is all science and things you need to go to college for between Verde and Reborn. At least, they supposed Reborn is arguing between pressing his lips to their skin. Viper is too pleasantly out of it to protest. Besides, it's funny to watch Verde rustle through his pockets to find things to throw at Reborn for his attention. Every single thing has been shot out of the air, flawlessly.   
  
Not to be outdone, Argument Number 2 is a _threeway_. Against all odds, Viper understands that one even less. It might not actually be Skull's fault there, actually. All of it's physical health nonsense. That's the problem, Viper decides as they squint at the three other drunken fools sitting with them. Lal and Skull are annoyed at Fon. That makes sense and is a good thing by Viper's judgment. After that, no, nothing. Something about sanitation and injuries? Eurgh.   
  
"This is exactly like the ham thing with Verde," they groan, and a few heads turn to them. Mostly Verde's, because his name was mentioned, and Fon's, because apparently there's only so long even the completely hammered can accept being tag-teamed by their doomed crush and Skull.   
  
"Ham thing?" he mumbles curious, wobbling in his chair. Viper watches hungrily, hoping for a reunion between his face and the floor, but it's not in the cards tonight. He gains back his balance, and they ease back into Reborn's wandering hands. Any other night, they'd let him suffer, but their buzz is too short for grudges.   
  
So, instead, they wiggle back against Reborn's warm chest and drawl out, "Verde thinks pork is _disgusting_."   
  
For whatever reason, that makes Skull pay mind to this line of conversation. "What? But- it's good! Wait, wait, waitwaitwait-" He flaps his hands uselessly. "Is this a vegan thing? Is that- Verde! Is that why your hair is _green_?" All the fascination in his tone is salt in the wound for the scientist, and Viper has no apologies in watching him down another bit of Lal's concoction from frustration.   
  
"That's not how it _works_!" he finally groans, accidentally slamming his own glass onto the table and making himself jerk in surprise. "That's not how... hair pigments work. And you've seen me eat meat!"  
  
"Oh." A hiccup. "Yeah."   
  
From her own little chair by the fire, patient queen of the drunks Luce hums thoughtfully. "I suppose it would have to do with being Jewish, wouldn't it, Verde?"  
  
Viper is too lazy to glance back at Reborn, but Lal doesn't seem to surprised at this revelation. Skull, however, is obviously hearing this for the first time with bewildered blinking and the soft clinks of his piercings when he cocks his head to the side. "Really? But, you hate, like, the idea of spirits and gods and stuff!"  
  
Verde's groan fills the room, and he makes a pleading gesture for Lal Mirch's bottle again. "I'm too drunk for this," he says sorrowfully, like someone kicked his dog. Wait, no, it's Verde. Like someone knocked over his chemistry set and wasted all his bizarre white alcoholic goo. There. "I'm too _sober_ for this, god... dammit. You can be Jewish and Atheist, I shouldn't even..." Finally, with what Viper is pretty sure is a whine, Verde sinks his face into his crossed arms.   
  
Separated by a single drunk stuntsman from Verde, Lal Mirch seems to reach a revelation of her own. "Wait." Energetically, she smacks her palm against the table a few times. "Wait, wait, wait- I thought. Verde, pay attention!" The scientist sullenly glances up to her. "Verde, you pissed up bastard, you couldn't be more drunk than if you were actually _birthed_ in whiskey!"  
  
Between the two, Skull drags a hand down his face. "We didn't have any whiskey..."   
  
Ignoring him, Lal forges on. "That's." An accusing point. "That's not allowed. Right? That's not allowed."   
  
It's a show to watch as Verde pushes himself on wobbly arms, only to slump across Skull's bent back when his legs prove to not be as sturdy. Solemnly pressing his index finger to his lips, he brings it over to her own with exaggerated slowness. Viper giggles when Lal's eyes cross. Or is that Reborn's fingers on their bare stomach? "Ssshhh." Satisfied, he pulls his hand away. "I'm the scientist. And. The Jewish scientist. I'm the only Jewish scientist in the room so I know. It doesn't count then." Flopping back into his seat, he stares off into space for a second before it occurs to him to add, "And I don't do it _regularly_."   
  
A brief second of silence washes over them as they all come to terms with things, including Skull swatting belatedly at his back, Lal still cross eyed, and Viper making lazy but constant attempts to smack Reborn's probing fingers. It's Fon, smiling in the utterly absent way of someone who's checked out from the conversation, that breaks it.   
  
"What _is_ Jewish?"  
  
An entire table stares blandly back at him. Verde was right. They're too drunk for this.  
  
  
  
The last hour passes by with a clumsy attempt from five different people to explain Judaism, at least a quarter of the information contradicting itself because they're either drunk or talking out their ass or both. That doesn't explain how every single one of them ends up in the kitchen, bickering over ingredients. For a second, Viper can only stand there blinking. Somehow, they feel as though they've missed some very important slides in the presentation of their life.  
  
That kind of conundrum has no place in the kitchen. Immediately, it's tossed to the side as Skull gets distracted and they lunge forward to steal tomatoes from him. A horrified wail leaves him when he notices. "No!"   
  
"Listen, you're from Canada, you have no taste!" they accuse, ducking around Lal. "It's going to be _great_ , tomatoes and mashed potatoes, they rhyme, this was always meant to happen-"  
  
At the same time, Lal is arguing with Verde about who knows what- their part of the counter is blocked from Viper's view as they huddle together. "Listen, that's not how you use a spatula."  
  
"I'm a _scientist_. I have degrees! Multiple degrees! Cooking is just science, I know what I'm doing."  
  
Viper has to skip over Fon's sprawled body on the floor, where he has decided that standing is for fools and would rather loosely curl around one of Lal's legs. Behind them, Viper can hear him contribute to the conversation lazily. "I cook. I cook all the time. Does that make me a scientist?"   
  
The answer to that question is not one Viper particularly cares about, so they tune out of the conversation. They've already reached their destination, by Reborn's side where he's squinting down at a pair of hot dogs suspiciously. At some point in the night, he's lost his jacket and vest. That _might_ have been their fault. "I'm going to make it up to you," they promise, shoving the tomatoes into his hands before dropping the hot dogs onto a layer of corn, onions, and cheddar spread atop bread. They know it's going to be delicious. They _know_. They've done this before, they're pretty sure, when drunk.   
  
A satisfied hum rolls out of Reborn, and he leans down again so that he can rest his arms along Viper's shoulders. They know he's as intoxicated as the rest of them. That doesn't appear to be stopping him from expertly slicing and dicing the tomatoes. "For what?"  
  
"It's going to taste amazing," they continue, because that's the proper answer to his question. At least one part of their brain is still sober. It forces them to wait until the knife stops and they reach over to sprinkle the tomato liberally over everything. "I'm the best cook. Luce, isn't that right?"  
  
"You're all very good cooks," Luce says diplomatically, ignoring that Skull is floundering to put out whatever is smoking in his pan. "Just be careful now, alright?" As she adjusts herself in her little corner seat, away from any potential pandemonium, Viper idly wonders when she'll give birth. Unless their own intoxicated mind is lying to them, they don't recall her ever telling the rest of them when it would happen. All the women in the Giglio Nero matriarchy have been seers. Maybe their powers cancel out even when one is in the womb.   
  
A timer pings, and Viper abandons those thoughts as they gleefully grab the pie iron.   
  
They're right. The sandwiches taste fantastic. Unfortunately, that's all they can remember of hour number five. That, and how warm Reborn is.   
  
It gets a little fuzzy after that.   
  
  
  
  
Cologne and the scent of far too much alcohol filters up into their brain, and Viper groans. Against their lips, they can feel the curve of Reborn's ear. That explains the cologne. The memories of last night explain the alcohol, too, although at this point they're wishing they couldn't remember. It's far too much information for their poor throbbing skull, nausea sloshing through it like wine in a bottle. When they try to swallow, their mouth comes up dry. All in all, not a single symptom that is particularly _encouraging_ them to open their eyes.  
  
They do it anyway. After that kind of night, you have to make sure that you aren't stuck in a tree. Straight above them is nothing but a smooth oak finish, and Reborn's larger body is draped over theirs, the heavy bastard. It takes a moment of squinting for them to realize that they're underneath not only Reborn, but also the large table that they were drinking at the night before.   
  
...There's something else that's somewhat suspicious, too.   
  
"Where is your _shirt_?" they grumble, squeezing their eyes shut once again. Against their own neck, they can hear Reborn sigh. They knew he was awake.   
  
"If I knew I'd tell you." Nudging his nose along their jaw, they feel Reborn push off them slightly, which is good. They were getting close to violence, even with their hangover. "Whatever Fon puts into his 'tea' is horrendous. No wonder he's always smiling." Has Reborn always been this talkative after regular wine? It's horrible. Yet the answer reveals itself when Viper squints their eyes open again. The first thing they notice is that Reborn's shirtless body is practically covered in bite marks. It's a pattern of deep purples and pale yellows mingled together, on every bit of available skin. The second is that of course he's feeling fine for a hangover. Propped up on one elbow, he has his fingers threaded through his hair and radiating his golden flame.   
  
Stupid activation attribute making his recovery quicker.   
  
Viper closes their eyes once more. "He's smiling all the time because he has no sense in him," they hiss, still sour.   
  
"Still hating him?"  
  
Now isn't that a strange question. Maybe it's the fact that he's focusing on getting rid of his hangover, but he seems... casual with that question. "I thought _you_ hated him too, so don't give me that."   
  
A sigh brushes along their face, and Reborn's fingers slip into their hair. It's not for romance, something that becomes apparent when they feel a reassuring warmth ebb through their skull. "Fon was never trying to court you away from me." A pause. "Well, besides the idea of sex or a fight. _My_ problem was the idea of you being taken from me. Even after that, I don't hate Fon for being Fon. It's a pointless exercise anyway."   
  
"...Oh." As their head becomes clearer, Viper opens their eyes and still manages to avoid making eye contact with Reborn. Their lips twist a bit as they think. "I suppose that clears up some of my plans.   
  
Reborn snorts. " _What_ plans?"  
  
"Mm. Plans." Reborn moves his fingers away slightly and Viper follows after his touch, scowling when it means looking up into his eyes. "Figuring out if there was anything else that would set you off with the others."   
  
"Well, Skull's destruction of French is one, but you realize you didn't have to _plan_ anything, right? You could have asked me." His eyes are still an utterly pitch black, a shade that could put obsidian to shame, and yet there's still an awkward softness there. At least that's something. He's as uncomfortable as they are. Having emotions is such a troublesome thing. "You're usually so blunt, I'd have expected that."  
  
Blunt? Viper supposes so. There's never been a reason for them _not_ to be, before. Yet he has a point, and it feels uncomfortable to look to their own actions for analysis. They've never had to do this before. "That's all... business," they say slowly, matching the soft pulse of Sun in their nerves. "If my money is on the line, of course I can be blunt. It's work. Nothing is gained if you tiptoe around. But." Viper scrunches up their nose, drawing their lips together in the process, and tries to focus on the solid point of his nose. They don't think they can concentrate if they take in all of his expression together. "But you're not business." A flush is spreading over their face, and it's not from the hangover. Dammit. "You stopped being business a long time ago. Obviously."  
  
It's hard to say that this an uncommon experience for them. That the last time they'd been this close to someone, that they'd even _talked_ to someone as casually as they have with him, was more than a decade ago, a couple of lives ago, and it had ended, and they stopped trying. You couldn't make money while you were in mourning. Reborn seems to understand, however, and runs his fingers through their hair again.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like a trash compactor. Don't take your fingers away." Wiggling beneath him, Viper realizes something. "Reborn. Where are my pants?"   
  
Reborn raises his eyes innocently up to the table underside. "It's a mystery." Unfortunately for him, innocence is the most ill fitting mask. Mostly he looks like an ass. Before Viper can knee him somewhere vital, there's footsteps around the edge of the table and then a faint knocking. Luce's voice is soft and gentle, perfect for hungover assholes.   
  
"Anyone down there?"  
  
Rolling onto their stomach, Viper crawls their way out from under the table with Reborn right behind them. They're not going to pretend to be oblivious as to why he does it. The only thing that's important is that he's right besides them again when they stand up, and that his fingers return to their hair when they nudge him. As Reborn's flame continues to purge the taint of hangover, Viper surveys the area. The lodge has not, in fact, been burnt to the ground. In fact, it seems fairly unharmed despite the fact that six highly dangerous jackasses were drunk within its walls. Luce, resplendent in a loose white dress and shawl, doesn't seem stressed at all. Then again, that proves nothing. Luce is that way at all times.  
  
As if proving it, she gives one of her trademark soft smiles. "Feeling better?"  
  
Viper has a sneaking suspicion that Luce is perfectly aware of the emotional and hungover moment from a minute before. It's almost embarrassing. Not wanting to talk about it, or the mess of pain and nausea Reborn is chasing away, they go for the important question. "Luce, what happened to my pants?"  
  
"Oh, those?" A definite edge of amusement coats her words, and quirks up the corners of her mouth. "Reborn put them on top of a bookshelf so that you couldn't get them again."   
  
They glare up at him. He tries the innocent look again, continuing to ignore the fact that it makes him look more suspicious. "And my shirt?"  
  
" _That_ is a much harder question." Luce taps her chin thoughtfully. "I know Viper got upset about it, since you kept pulling your gun on Skull but they couldn't figure out where you kept it... So they were slowly stripping you throughout the night and biting you when they were upset. I have the vest and the jacket, but the shirt's location, well, I simply can't tell you."  
  
This time, it's Reborn's turn to look at them. It's not a glare, not quite, but a look of incredulity. "That was a good shirt!"   
  
"You can't blame me. I was intoxicated. I can't remember anything at all."   
  
Luce cuts in before the bickering can get foolish. "Now that the two of you are awake, can I get your help with a couple of the others? I'm afraid it was bit outside my own ability."   
  
"The others?" Viper echoes, glancing around the rest of the room. On the floor, they can spot Verde curled up with a few blankets and a pillow- no doubt the work of Luce. In another corner of the room is what appears to be a piling of furniture made into a makeshift _fort_. Three guesses for who that is. That leaves a certain annoying martial artist and a stuntsman.  
  
"Where's Fon?" Reborn asks, not because he actually cares in all probability, but Luce has asked for their help. At this point, Viper is fairly certain none of them can refuse her. Besides, she _was_ their sober watchwoman for last night and probably the sole reason the lodge isn't ashes. It's the least they all can do.   
  
In response, Luce simply points upwards. Glancing to the rafters, Viper realizes they can see a red lump slumped along a beam and with a black braid dangling downwards. They squeeze their eyes shut again and rub at their face. A fort made by a military expert, the martial artist in the rafters, whatever happened last night, the probable disaster in the kitchen.... And they still haven't asked about Skull yet.   
  
"Luce," they sigh, glancing up to her again, "just what makes you put up with all of us?"  
  
They're expecting a clever retort, because Luce teases like that. What they're not expecting is for her to smile, and say-   
  
"Because I love you, of course."   
  
As a general rule, Viper has always avoided being shot. However, they've done the shooting before, when they were young and desperate and still so clumsy with their Mist. Hearing those words is that same sort of recoil- jerking them back, rattling them down to their bones and making their heart tremble right in their throat. How hard they've been fumbling to be open with their own soulmate, to say they _like_ him, and Luce barrels in, the words so relaxed but honest on her tongue. Viper doesn't know what to say in turn. They can only stare and feel their body get engulfed by heat.  
  
Keeping eye contact is impossible while they're feeling this intensely. Viper jerks their head away to stare up at Reborn and gauge his feelings. It shouldn't be surprising that it's hard to read, but what is surprising is that it's not the usual way. There's no coolness in his gaze, no blackness that swallows up any attempts to be read. Funnily enough, it's like trying to see through tumultuous mist- it's been disturbed, but still hides so much in its twists and turns. Before Viper can analyze it further, Reborn sighs and brings a small smile to his lips. "Careful. Being that kind of romantic makes Viper kick you."  
  
The asshole.  
  
Luce giggles as Viper lashes out with their bare foot (and misses). "Anyway, while I wake the others up, can you get Fon down? Thank you."  
  
"You're the worst, you know," they mutter, rubbing at their eyes and face to banish the blush while Luce walks over to the fort. Besides them, they can hear Reborn sliding on his jacket again. "So, just shoot Fon out of the rafters and let him jump down himself. I'm not wasting energy using my illusions." When they let their hands drop, Reborn already has his gun in his. Maybe Drunk-Viper had a point about searching where he keeps the damn thing.   
  
"Done and done." He waits for Viper to cover their ears before shooting off a round into the wood near Fon's head. The lazy figure in red barely budges, save for a shift that reveals his pale face over the edge. "Fon! It's morning. I'll make you personally cover the expenses of every bullet I waste on you."  
  
Crossing their arms, Viper thinks they hear murmured complaints in Chinese before Fon gets up. He leaps down to the floor without even a stumble, which is almost envious. What's not envious is the way he's squinting and red eyed. Viper snorts from the effort of holding in their own laughter when they spot "honorary scientist" written in agonizing neatness and permanent marker on his cheek. So there's one question answered that didn't really need to be.   
  
When Lal is convinced out of her fort, it's with a shotgun in one hand and the other pressing against her forehead. Blue flames twist around her fingers. An inventive solution, to be sure. Verde's Lightning flames can't do that, but Viper watches in judgmental horror when he pulls out a small flask out of his labcoat and downs something that looks suspiciously blue. Then again, maybe it's his boxers they're judging. Fon is similar, in that they're both pantless, although Viper suspects there's not much else under his long robe. He leans over curiously to glance at Verde's concoction, only to be handed it carelessly by the scientist.   
  
While Fon stares at the flask pondering if he wants to play Verde Roulette, Luce gestures for all of them to follow her. "I need help with Skull," she says over her shoulder, opening the door into the basement and going down the stairs.  
  
Unlike the rest of the lodge, the basement is cold as sin and nowhere as fun. Out in the wilderness, there's no need for it to be anymore than a functional room. The floor is simple dirt, patted down, and the walls that hold the rest back are the same wood as the rest of the lodge. All their rations and things that could hold out past doomsday are stored down here. And, in the middle of the floor, a hole has been dug.   
  
It's actually a fairly impressive one. From where Reborn has picked them up to cradle in one arm, Viper leans over to look down into it along with the rest of the group. At the very bottom, beneath a small mountain of blankets, they can see some purple fuzz.   
  
Lal Mirch swears. " _Shit_. Did we actually kill him for real this time?"  
  
In the hole, a groan echoes up.   
  
"I was trying to convince Verde not to do anything to the chimney and fireplace," Luce explains patiently, "and by the time I realized anything was happening, Skull had already dug halfway down. I can't tell if one of you bullied him into it, or if he was simply digging to get away from you."  
  
"No reason it couldn't have been both," Verde mutters, still rubbing at his temple.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Lal storms back towards the stairs. "Dammit, we're going to have to get him out of there sooner or later, so might as well make it now. Fon!" He perks up at his name. "Come give me a hand with the damn ladder."   
  
"FIND YOUR SOULMATE ALREADY!" Viper yells at Fon's retreating back, pettily delighted at his wince and the way he finally takes a gulp from Verde's flask. Squirming into Reborn's arm again, they smirk.   
  
It takes around five minutes for Lal and Fon to return, and another five minutes to cajole and yell at Skull to get on the ladder at all. Around the time Luce is helping Skull up out of the hole, a throat clears behind them. As one, they all glance back to the stairs. There, on the bottom step, is Checkerface. It's not often he comes to them. Usually, when there's a job, the appropriate folders and information are left on the table for them to glance over at breakfast. Viper can't remember the last time they'd seen him, even before his long absence. Perhaps the very first time they were gathered. Like then, he's dressed in shades of black and white. Viper wonders if the mask has frozen to his face at this point.   
  
"I was going to inform you of a rather special assignment," Checkerface says slowly, taking in the fact that three of the seven gathered are still pantsless, "but I see that you had quite an interesting previous night."   
  
In complete unison, every single one of them flips him off. Even Skull, half on the floor and one arm wrapped around Lal's leg, joins in with a look of annoyance. The only ones to not do so are Luce and Fon, and hell. Who knows what's going on behind his wide red sleeves, besides that he's trying to hide a smile behind one.   
  
It's probably the most united Viper has ever felt with a group of people before.  
  
"I think it might be best if you give everyone an hour to clean up," Luce says calmly, her hands still on Skull's shoulders and probably the most likely reason for the lack of rude gesture. But maybe that's wistful thinking on Viper's part.   
  
Checkerface seems to take in the scene: three of the professionals he hired currently half-dressed, Reborn shirtless but with a jacket and Viper in the crook of his arm, Skull still half on the ground, Fon's facial graffiti, and, last but not least, Lal's shotgun which she's hefted up against her shoulder again. All of that considered, he nods faintly. "I suppose it would be. I'll see you all upstairs, then." Skull makes a rude masturbatory gesture at his back as Checkerface leaves.   
  
Once the last footstep has faded, Viper nudges Reborn's shoulder while Fon helps Skull up. "Come on, let's use all the hot water before the others."   
  
"Viper, we're _right here_ ," Lal grumbles as she tugs up the back of Skull's shirt. With some of them faster and less hungover than others, eventually, they all leave the basement and go get cleaned up because, in the end, they _are_ professionals. There's a job to do, hangover or not.   
  
It's only later, while they're heading to their destination in a plane, that Viper wonders something. Luce is the seer. Luce is also the one who encouraged casual drinking the night before their assignment. She had to know they'd be working soon, right? She's a professional along with the rest of them, so why do that? No answer they come up with satisfies them, so, eventually, Viper lets their thoughts drift to other matters.   
  
Such as how to break into a government official's bunker.   
  
  
  
  
  
When the job is at long last _finally_ over, the first thing that happens on the way back is vehicular manslaughter.   
  
It's what Lal Mirch gets for trying to be a good person, honestly. Most people, on appearances alone, would have left most of the I Prescelti Sette stranded on the side of the road. They're all deplorably sketchy looking, and that's putting it _kindly_. Most people especially would have let them be after seeing the wreckage that's Verde's car and what it had dragged Reborn's into, or at least at the way Viper had been laughing at both of them. Now, however, Lal's let the argument into her car. Viper observes her grip tightening and relaxing periodically, and can only shake their head.   
  
They're also there, along with everyone else, to observe when something vaguely purple flings itself from the roadside right into Lal's car.   
  
Her sigh is nothing but the most exasperated of sounds, rattling out of her throat in time with the body rattling up along her hood. " _Skull_..."  
  
To everyone's surprise, however, Skull is already back on his feet when they all exit the vehicle. On his feet and _active_ , scrambling for Lal. "Lal! Lal lal lal- she's, stopped on the road, but, water! Water!"   
  
Alarmed and looking as if she's holding back a gut punch from her surprise, Lal grips Skull's upper arms while he babbles at her and squeezes. "Skull! Calm down. _Shut up and calm down_. You're not making any sense. Speak slowly, in French if you need to."   
  
Wheezing in a breath and swallowing, he finally blurts out, " _Luce is having the baby!_ "  
  
A brief and startlingly clear silence stretches over them for that period inbetween the second he speaks and the second before they react. An outward silence, at any rate- Viper can't speak for the others but in their own mind is nothing but a long screech. Then, in a heartbeat, they're stampeding back into Lal's car. Out of corner of their eye, Viper sees the soldier bodily pick Skull up and fling him into the back seat. "What hospital is she in!?" she snaps as she leaps into the driver's seat, taking off while Verde still has one leg out the door.   
  
"She's _not_!" Skull yelps, Reborn's elbow digging into his side. "I found her car on the side of the road, and I stopped, and, you know, I went to check on her, and she had the door open and there was water dripping down her legs, and I didn't get it at first-"   
  
Viper kicks at him from across Reborn's lap. "Use your _words_ , Skull!"  
  
Rubbing at his abused side, Skull thumps his head against the side of the car. "I offered to drive her back into town, but she said it'd take too long. She said you would all show up!"  
  
"And you ran _on foot_ and left her there!?" Lal sounds like she's going to choke him, but she'd have to stop driving for that. Besides, Reborn might beat her there.   
  
"I panicked," Skull groans, thumping his head again. Maybe no one needs to do anything. He seems to be abusing himself just fine. "I do _stunts_ , not deliver babies, what do you want from me?" Rubbing at his face and smudging his makeup more than it was to start with, he mumbles, "And Fon got there before I took off anyway."   
  
Up in the front seat besides Lal, Verde sounds like he's choking on a cat. "What does Fon know about childbirth!? Does Fon even know first aid?"  
  
"Everyone shut up!" They all jerk in their seats as Lal makes a sharp turn, the relative smoothness of the road disturbed. "That's her car!"   
  
Sure enough, it is. Any one of them could recognize Luce's car, a bastion of normalcy between the rest of theirs. Its lights are on already, illuminating her in the darkness. Fon is, indeed, at her side. As the rumble of Lal's vehicle dies away and they all hop out, Viper can hear him humming softly to her. Luce is only half in her seat, her feet planted firmly on the ground and knees bent. Between her legs, one of Fon's brilliant red shirts is spread out.   
  
At the sound of their footsteps, she looks up and smiles. Even with her skin pale and all the blood apparently gathering along her cheeks, she still looks radiant. It's something in her eyes. "Ciao," she huffs, chest trembling as much as her legs. "This isn't how I was hoping it would go."  
  
"What do you mean _hope_?" Viper blurts out, voice hitching higher than they want as Verde immediately checks her condition. "Luce, you're a _seer_ , how didn't you see this coming?" Something uncomfortable and leaden drops into the pit of their stomach. A question they'd tossed aside carelessly during their trip is now at their shoulder, haunting them. "Is there something wrong with you?"   
  
"Well, my family usually has births with little problems," she grunts out, not seeming to mind when Verde sticks his head under her dress as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "So besides the situation..."  
  
"No, I mean with your ability." On the side of the road, in the middle of the night, with Verde investigating her vaginal cavity- this is not how Viper wanted to have this conversation. Now it's there hanging in the air, and it might be important. There's no choice but to forge ahead. "Not foreseeing your own daughter's birth, and before this job, I am _well_ aware that you're not the type of person who'd let us get that level of drunk the night before a job."  
  
"If you're sick, tell me now," Verde orders, voice only slightly muffled by Luce's dress. "I'm no expert, but the cervix _seems_ to be doing alright. However, if there's something wrong-"   
  
"Oh," Luce says faintly. She sounds as though she's tuned back into the conversation. " _Oh_. That. No, no, that's... Checkerface has _always_ had a strange effect when it comes to my sight. I couldn't tell you why. I thought we still had-" The rest of her words get lost in her grunt of pain, and Verde retreats out in a hurry. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he takes a step back.   
  
"That's. Certainly an infant coming. Even if Skull had driven her, at this rate, I'm not sure he could have made it back to town with her before matters would require _someone_ to get hands on. Now the question is what... are we going to..." Verde trails off. The reason he trails off is because he's looked back to the rest of them, and they're all staring back at him. Expectantly.   
  
Lal cuts straight to the point everyone is thinking. "What are you going to do about it?"  
  
" _Me_!?"  
  
"You're the scientist!" Skull points out, sounding even worse than Viper had. It makes them feel better.   
  
Frustrated, Verde drags his fingers through his messy hair and nearly dislodges his glasses. "A _scientist_ is not the same as a _doctor_ , you can't just assume-" Luce groans in pain behind him. A jolt rattles through the whole group, and Verde glances back at her. Back to them. Back to her, and then he gives a groan of his own, although it's pure frustration. "Lal! Get me your water bottles from the car. Fon, do you _actually_ know anything about childbirth?"   
  
Lal's footsteps fade, and Fon gives a shrug. "My mother and aunts tended to usher the boys out when these sort of things occurred."   
  
"Then get out of the way and let Reborn sit there. Just in case!"   
  
In the time it takes both men to exchange places, Lal is already chugging back a small case of water bottles. God bless military efficiency and the beaten-in habit of always being prepared. Shedding his coat and rolling up his sleeves, Verde squints down at the bottles. Gears in his head are turning. "We don't nearly have the amount of cleanliness or equipment necessary-"  
  
 _Honestly_. Scoffing, Viper stomps their foot against the ground. From the impact, a shining clean hospital room surrounds the entire group and both cars, a barrier from the outside. Catching Verde's eye, they jerk their chin up. "I don't know anything about medical equipment, so if you need something, you better be prepared to describe it." A flicker of relief is behind those glasses, and Verde is immediately heading back to Luce.   
  
"Alright! Fon, Skull, you're both useless, go to a corner and stay there. Lal, Reborn, anesthetic. Luce-" And it's here that Verde loses the bossy sharpness to his voice. Like nearly all of them, Verde does gentleness with the silent panic of a schoolboy who hasn't studied for a test. Clearing his throat, he kneels down in front of her legs and tentatively pats one knee. "Luce," he tries again, as uncomfortable as the first time. "We'll, ah, let gravity do most of the work. So, take care not to push extraordinarily hard, and focus on your breathing." It's all recited instead of shot off, Verde's usual way of trying to prove he's better than everyone, and he has to pause, wracking his brain. "If things get complicated, we'll... figure it out from there."   
  
Maybe it's Viper, but _we'll figure it out from there_ is by far not a particularly reassuring thing to hear during childbirth. That worry is far from their mind when he cuts to the chase, and they hastily look away as he flips up Luce's dress. The panting and groans of pain are things they can usually ignore. In Viper's business, all sorts of unpleasant things happen. Blood in the air? Par for the course as well. It's that smell of something _other_ , the heaviness bearing down on all their shoulders, that makes Viper's skin itch. Best they can, the illusionist tries to ignore what's happening. It's only halfway successful, and they're pulled out of it when Luce starts to huff out words amongst the pain.   
  
"Before... It was going to be the last time." Taking in a breath, Luce squeezes the hand Reborn has offered her. Viper thinks they can see her knuckles pressing up through her skin. "That we would all get to be with each other, I mean, and no baby to take care of." If Reborn cares about the fact that her nails are digging into his skin, he doesn't make any notice of it. There's merely a low murmur, the words of which Viper can't catch. Maybe there's no real words at all. Either way, it doesn't seem to impact Luce's train of thought. "Just one last night." She giggles, but it's strained, and Lal rakes her fingers through the other woman's messy hair. "I thought I had another day, but Checkerface always throws my visions off."  
  
"Yeah, he's a dirtbag," Lal confirms, hand drifting down to Luce's shoulder to give a squeeze.   
  
"Can't explain the baby," Luce keeps going, squeezing her eyes shut. "But- vague-" Her words become choked out, locked behind grit teeth, and she nearly nails Verde in the side with her foot. Lal's flames flare up again, the sole reason that Luce whimpers instead of screeching. Behind their back, Viper can hear Skull keening like _he's_ the one shoving out a small human being through his genitals. Everything else after that is...   
  
Noise and stench.  
  
Viper tunes it all out as aggressively as they can, focused on the crack between the backdoor and the car. They don't want to know. They don't want to look. If possible, they'd rather not smell or hear anything either, but there's no way to block their nose and ears without seeming like a child. Stubborn pride keeps them going until they finally hear-   
  
"Verde, do _not_ drop the baby!" That would be enough to make _anyone's_ head snap up again. Fortunately, there's no need to worry despite Lal's word. Verde has the infant carefully in hand as he guides it out from between Luce's legs, head supported with extreme caution. Unfortunately, that means Viper has to _see_ the baby coming out from between Luce's legs, covered in vaginal slime or whatever the godforsaken medical term is. They can't name all the liquids involved, save for blood slick across the child's body and dripping down from Luce's legs. Fon's red robe is getting all the redder. They'd take more delight in it if not for the way their body wants to turn itself inside out. Desperate to focus on anything else, they smack their hands together right by Verde's ear. He's stopped moving after cleaning its face.   
  
"Don't just _hold_ it!" they snap, joining Lal in Camp Done With This. "Give it to the mother!" From the peanut gallery, Fon finally speaks up.   
  
"It's true. Every mother I saw kept the child close after birth."   
  
Dripping relief, Verde gladly holds out the child to Luce. Finally getting the baby out has her half slumped against Reborn and half against the car interior. Still, at the presentation, she raises her head up and smiles unsteadily. Unlike everyone else, she seems to know exactly what to do as she adjusts her dress and guides the babe to her breast. It seems perfectly content to snuggle up against her, already suckling. For a moment, all the group can do is stand and catch their breath. Awe and silent horror at the bloody mess holds them captive.   
  
From between Luce's legs, a sack of blood and flesh slithers out and hits the ground with a wet _plop_. Luce, dazed and preoccupied with motherhood, somehow doesn't notice.   
  
Spell broken, everyone starts talking over everyone else and Skull's muffled screaming. "That coat is ruined forever now, basically," Lal says at the same time that Verde is yelling for someone to help him put Luce and the placenta in the back of the car. In the chaos, Viper's stomach is still churning. All the wrongness of before is creeping back, emphasizing the worst of their body, and they want to throw up. Everyone else is white noise but, through the fog, they realize a hand is gesturing for them. A blink, and they see Luce again. Another curl of her fingers, and they're hardly thinking before they're taking up the spot Lal has recently vacated. Pleased as anything, she slips her fingers between the empty spaces of Viper's and...   
  
Everything settles. Energy pulses through their palm, a heat that binds all their parts together again. Bone and flesh and skin and the shape all of it makes- it's all fine. It can be whatever Viper wants it to be, but for now, without effort, it's fine as it is. It's not an enemy. Viper breathes, not realizing they'd ever stopped.   
  
Squeezing their hand once more, Luce glances down at the infant she's cradling in her arm again. A little bit, she seems more in the present. "Aria," she says, and all the ruckus around them falls silent again. "Her name's Aria, and you're all her godparents." Pleased as punch, Luce giggles. Adrenaline, probably, although none of them have the same excuse as they all glance away or hide twitchy smiles.   
  
"Skull! Are you done screaming now?!" Lal demands, awkward and eager to get out of a sentimental moment. "Good! Now get behind that wheel and drive Luce _safely_ back to town, or so help you the shit we'll do. Fon, go with him! Time to earn your keep since you were useless the rest of the time!" In true military style, she gets everything organized and clean until, finally, the four of them watch as the car drives off into the night again.   
  
In a daze now that there's no more birthing emergency on their hands, Verde staring at his, they shuffle back to Lal's car. "How are you so _calm_?" Viper starts to hiss to their soulmate, only to immediately eat their words as Reborn collapses in the back seats. Viper pauses, blinking, and takes in all of him: pale skin even paler, the jitters in his usually composed fingers, and those deep black eyes all wide in shock. His hat is half off his head. He doesn't bother to correct it. Huffing and trying to hide how bad they're still shaking too, Viper crawls onto his lap.  
  
Car rumbling to life beneath them, Verde clears his throat and glances back. "Briefcase with the green ribbon around the handle."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Give it to me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
An annoyed noise hops off his tongue. "Because that's where my _alcohol_ is."  
  
Well then. With that in consideration, Viper rummages through Verde's luggage and starts undoing the bottle for themself. "I'll make it up to you when we get back," they say after a swig, handing it to Reborn.   
  
"With _your_ drink? That isn't alcohol, Viper, that's a type of acid." For all his words, he's still the one gladly accepting a glass when they finally get back to the lodge. They all do, not caring whatever god awful drink ends up in their grip.   
  
...It's actually not that bad. A little drunker, Viper can admit that. It's not that bad to be in a lodge in the middle of nowhere, sharing blankets and alcohol, their company consisting of a freak scientist, a foul mouthed soldier, and their soulmate. It wouldn't be that bad with Skull, definitely not with Luce, and Fon, well, Fon is tolerable after enough drinks. With a start, Viper realizes that nothing in their current situation makes up a bad life. Their employer is sketchy but pays well. Their coworkers aren't nearly as bad as anyone else they've had the misfortune of working with in their career. They're a _godparent_. Viper knows their self of even last year would have laughed at that idea, but here they are. And their soulmate- with them, warm, and arguing drunk Latin with Verde.   
  
Things could be good, if they let it be.   
  
  
  
  
They should have known better.   
  
_This is what you get for trying to be an optimist_ their mind whispers to them only a month later, a bitter resentment flooding their chest and a brilliant light blinding their eyes as they stare up. With no sight, they think they hear Lal yelling across the plateau, a foreign voice alongside hers, but it doesn't matter. Not a lot does now. Still, a part of them wishes they could have seen this coming, wishes they could have turned and left, wishes that if nothing else they were closer to Reborn...   
  
Viper wishes for a lot of things as the light sinks into their bones and warps them from the inside out.


	8. Waiting for a Moment to Live For

The day after the formation of the Arcobaleno, they huddle in the lodge- changed, uneasy, emotions thrumming through them, an electrical charge.   
  
The week after, they scatter- torn apart by an inability to cope. Reborn stays curled in his rage, in how helpless and pathetic he feels with a body shrunken down, and he can't decide if he's surprised or not when he finds Viper's room abandoned one morning. Fon's is just as empty. Colonello, the blond and blue eyed soldier, starts reporting this and more in place of Lal Mirch. Reborn's healed the worst of her burns, kept her eye from being lost, but he's _weak_ and something fights him. What should be easy strains his body, resists his urging, and... he can't fix all of her burns. He hasn't seen her in days.   
  
Luce doesn't seem surprised when she hears. Tired, but not surprised. Their departure pops the bubble that's kept the rest of them here. They all pile into Verde's repaired car, just as fantastical as ever with an ability to drive on its own. It's not as much of a squeeze as it would have been, once upon a time. Beneath the makeshift rags that have been assembled into clothing, the names along Reborn's spine feel cold.   
  
The year after, and he wishes that's _all_ they were.   
  
...The first month after is frustrating. Infuriating. Not once in his life has he ever had to reflect on how _big_ the world is to a child, a toddler. There's never been any reason to. When he was younger, _truly_ young, he had never paid mind to it. Once his sister had been born, _that_ had been his world. Once he'd stepped into the underworld, drawn her hatred, well, there was a new world to accept all his anger, and by then he'd been fully grown. Here he is now, however, a man in a child's body, and the rest of reality feels like an enemy. By the second month, he's adjusted a little better, but the rage is still burbling inside of him. It threatens to overflow, pure lava sinking out from his heart over his ribs when he spots the weary lack of surprise in Vongola Nono's eyes.   
  
How common was the knowledge that they'd be sacrificial lambs?   
  
Three, four, five, six- he spends that many months mastering his body all over again and trying not to drown in his own rage. Everything is wrong, but he makes it right bit by bit. He refuses to let the world win over him after he's spent a lifetime of surviving and making a name for himself. The creature born of his flames, the chameleon that clings to his hat when it can, that helps. Leon is an anchor, keeping him from drifting away. Eventually, the anger is locked away, and he goes into the field again. His long absence almost helps him, in a way. A quiet sort of satisfaction slithers through him when he hears the rumors that arise from his childish appearance. Superstitious grapes on the mafia grapevine. They claim he's been away so long to become something else beyond human. That he's become an illusionist.   
  
Eleven months after, and the thought is nearly enough to amuse him. He wonders what Viper would say.   
  
Twelve months after, and _still_ not a single one of his contacts can pick up their trace. He takes jobs that he knows would attract someone of Viper's skill. Armageddon could be raining down onto earth, Hell could crack open the Earth's crust, and heavenly armies could be raging war, but he knows Viper would _still_ stockpile material wealth. Their greed surely has to have survived a change like this and there are always desperate mafiosos who want talent. Despite his attempts, however, nothing surfaces. Their trail is as cold as the bond written on his skin.  
  
It's in the thirteenth month that pain laces across his back.   
  
He's in the middle of maintaining his gun, short and fat fingers forcing him to be careful, when it happens. In his life, he's faced far worse pains: broken bones, piercing hangovers in a battered body, bullets lodged in his flesh. _None_ of them have ever pierced straight through his heart or left him out of breath like this. Distantly, he can hear the recoil spring clatter down onto the floor, but it's so faint. It might as well not exist. His entire world, now, is the throbbing ache against his spine. Even as he sits there, stunned, out of breath, he can feel it continue anew- curves and strokes forming along the skin of his back. It's a feeling he's experienced more times than he has ever liked in his life, a guilt and pain that had hammered at him again and again until he'd become numb to it. His soulmate, the one destined for him, had been only a name crossed off of his skin again and again and again, until...   
  
Viper's face flickers into his mind:   
  
Lips pursed together, hugging shadows to them as if to spite the setting sun, twisting a spoon in their fingers, and he wants to reach across the table in this little Chinese restaurant to grab them and _not let go_ \-   
  
Brilliant silver eyes, and in hindsight it makes him laugh because of course, but in the moment all he can think of is the way they fit on his lap and how his hand curves perfectly along their hips, and they're finally allowing this-   
  
Cheeks flushed a red that matches the hangover red of their eyes, hair a mess, and he couldn't care less as his fingers slide against purple strands and he coaxes them to look at him, to be honest with him-  
  
And they seem so pale, standing there beneath the light that manages to pierce through even their shadows. Curled fists, clenched teeth bared past their lips, and their pupils nothing more than terrified and angered slits in the silver of their eyes. In the last moments of _this_ , he wants to go besides them, take them in his arms because if this is their last moment...   
  
But he didn't.   
  
He was too late.   
  
Reborn's hands can't stop shaking.   
  
He was too late.   
  
A soft clicking finally penetrates through the fog, and, blinking, he comes back to the rest of the world. Amidst the scattered remains of the gun, Leon looks up at him in clear concern. Who knows how long he's been doing it. The pain on his back has faded, slightly, but now he's more aware than ever of the additions to his back. It's habit that pushes him up to his feet and carries him to his bedroom, Leon scurrying right behind him. It's the first time since he'd been cursed that he's ever inspected the names along his back. Since he's ever had reason to. They're still there once he strips away his shirt and cranes his neck to see the list in his reflection, but changed. On the body of a toddler, they're nigh incomprehensible to read. It's only years of seeing them that he even knows the names.   
  
Adriana, crossed out. Pichi, crossed out. Avery, crossed out. Min, crossed out. All sights he had gotten used to after so many years.   
  
Viper.   
  
Crossed out.  
  
Seeing it there, plain as day, solidifies the knife twist that's been stuck into his heart. Bile burns the back of his tongue, and Leon gives another click, climbing up with cool toes onto his shoulder. It helps, somehow, to have his weight right there where Reborn can reach it. This is it. He had _finally_ found one of the names on his back, spent years chasing them and loving them, and now... Another name crossed out. Tears tug behind his eyes, and he wants to collapse. He's always known life was never fair. You don't stay alive in the business thinking that sort of thing. Yet _this_... Taking in a deep breath to fight back even the idea of crying, he begins to put on his clothes once more. He doesn't bother to make an attempt deciphering the newest name to the list.  
  
Out on the table, he has hits to fulfill.   
  
  
  
  
  
Indulging his rage is so much easier than confronting the grasping depths of his sorrow.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Reborn."   
  
"Nono."   
  
He doesn't bow. Reborn doesn't even nod his head politely. Manners are something he's always used only when he's been of mind to. Right now, blood still boiling in his veins, fire still pulsing in his chest like he can burn the entire world down if he tries? Reborn _definitely_ isn't in the mind to indulge manners. So he stares straight back at the ninth boss of the Vongola, hiding his aggravation behind the blankness of his eyes. He wants to be anywhere but here, preferably standing in front of some poor idiot with a mark on his head, fingers twitching around the trigger. Soothing misery with bloodshed. It hasn't worked so far, but Reborn can be patient when he wants to. It's better than the alternative.   
  
However, when one is called for an audience with the boss of the most powerful mafia Family in the world, it's not a call that can be refused. Careful not to be blatant, he casts a glance over the other men assembled in the room. Three, he recognizes. Like so many other big names in the underworld, he'd been there when Daniela had passed down her position to her son. Coyote, Bouche, and Schnitten had all been there, as protective as they are now. Visconti, well, Reborn isn't surprised that the man isn't attending this little meeting. That's the nature of Cloud users. When in a group, they tend to go against the flow of everyone else. The redhead and the man with part of his hair- bleached? They're _new_. Then again, it's been a while since he's seen Ganauche and Brow, even after his return from the gathering of the Arcobaleno. Things have changed almost as much as he has.  
  
"There's a lot of things I could be doing right now," he says bluntly, not eager to stick around longer than he has to. "So, if you'd please, Nono, I'd like to know what I've been called here for." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Schnitten twitch slightly at the disrespect shown to his don. His sky. A younger mafioso might immediately reach for his gun, especially with the Vongola's status. It says a lot about how long these men have been doing their jobs that a single twitch from only one of them is the most reaction he gets. He knows such disrespect must have grated at most of Timoteo's guardians.  
  
Then again, maybe it says more about Timoteo's condition than anything. The man looks worn down, older than even his fairly impressive age. Perhaps that's the cost of surviving for so long in this industry. It wears you down. There's something else, too- a weight to his shoulders, a dullness to his eyes. Through all his rage, Reborn recalls news that had traveled through the underworld's grapevine that had forced even him to pay attention. Timoteo is the father of four sons. Now, only three. He hadn't heard the details of Federico's death. Faintly, there's a flicker of empathy, but it drowns beneath all his anger and aggravation.   
  
The Vongola ring glints in the artificial light of the room as Timoteo clasps his hands together from his chair. The two new faces are situated right behind him, out of place with the weathered face of their don. "Your actions the past months have drawn some concern, Reborn."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"You've become _sloppy_." Funny how, out of all the words that could have been levied his way, that's the one which makes Reborn narrow his eyes and causes his fingers to twitch. Behind the chair, the bleached guardian makes a point of leaning forward and resting one arm across the top of its back. A harried grin lays lopsided along his lips. Without actually saying anything, it speaks volumes that the man would really rather _not_ see an entire chunk of the Iron Fortress go up in flames. There's no need to worry. He has more control over himself than that, for all that Reborn wants to draw his gun. Besides, more than the property damage, he'd have to worry about an enormous chunk of the underworld wanting him dead.   
  
...Not to mention Daniela would roll in her grave if he harmed her son.   
  
Still. _Sloppy_.   
  
Timoteo waits until Reborn has eased up and his Guardian has shifted back into position before he continues. "Your hits have become more violent lately, and you've been taking more of them as is usual. It's not something that's escaped me."  
  
"You can't restrict me from the jobs I take. That's not in the contract."   
  
"No, I can't. However, I am sending you on another job."   
  
Something about this makes Reborn wary. He doesn't exactly want to ask, but he'll be damned if he runs from this sort of thing either. "Who do you want taken out?"  
  
"No one. This is a different job from the usual ones we give you." Timoteo squares his shoulders. "I want you to tutor the tenth heir to the Cavallone Family so that he is prepared to inherit his position."  
  
Every single one of Reborn's thought processes grind to a stuttering, screeching halt. It takes a second before he can force out a single " _What_?" because this is _ridiculous_. He's a hitman, not a babysitter, not an elementary school teacher. He's been no boss, either. Too much work, to much tying him down. Something else occurs to him, and his shoulders tense even more than they were to start with. "How long will this job take?"  
  
"As long as is necessary."   
  
"That will keep me from any other jobs."   
  
"It will," Timoteo agrees, and Reborn can tell that's the _point_. He's stuck on babysitting duty because his anger has become noticeable to even the head of the Vongola.  
  
Maybe it's a good idea. Reborn still doesn't have to like it, or admit as much. "Are you forcing me to take this job?" he asks, voice steely. In the background, he can see Bouche shift at his tone.   
  
In his seat, Timoteo straightens up and his gaze hardens. "Yes," is all he says, but that sole word and the weight of his Will is impressive.   
  
Against his own will, Reborn recalls Daniela. Specifically, he recalls being flat on his back on a dirty bar floor, the building cleared out and a crossbow leveled right at his face. He'd been a mess back then, too, another bastard of the underworld wearing his hurt on his sleeve and lost in his anger. He'd been lost in alcohol, too. Eventually, with the foolish things he was doing inbetween his jobs, someone would have put an end to him. He hadn't had the title of the world's best hitman at that age. Yet Daniela had seen his potential and put a stop to all his bullshit.   
  
It'd been an ultimatum: sign a contract to the Vongola and get his life together, or sign his death warrant and not have to _worry_ about life.   
  
Her stare had been hardened then, too. Such an amazing woman, he'd half wished her name had been on the list etched into his back. Perhaps it's the nostalgia of that moment that has him swallow his acidic rage back into his stomach and jerk his head in a nod.  
  
"I'll take my leave for the Cavallone estate tomorrow."   
  
It's enough for Timoteo to ease up again back into his chair, and his nod is as good as any dismissal. "May your trip go well, Reborn," is his farewell as the hitman leaves the room.   
  
Still so pleasant, even despite the tension that had flared up in the room more than once.   
  
It'd be nice to go straight home and focus on packing and research. Reborn isn't looking forward to having to deal with the whole mess. However, he only manages to get down three halls in the massive halls of the Iron Fortress before he hears someone jogging up behind him. It's the guardian with the bleached hair and lopsided smile. Considering the ease in his shoulders, Reborn takes it he's not here on the Ninth's business. Curious if still annoyed, he stops to hear the man out.  
  
"First of all, thanks for not starting a firefight in the meeting room." He sweeps his fingers along his hair, slowing to a stop before Reborn. "I know they told me that I'd be in for a lot with this position, but going gun to gun with someone of your reputation is still a bit too early for me, I think."  
  
Young, relaxed, a good looking smile- if not for the ring glittering green on his hand and bearing the Vongola's crest, he could be any other man in the country. Reborn cuts to the point. "Who are you?"  
  
"Ganauche."   
  
"I've met Ganauche before, and you're a couple decades behind him. I recommend not trying my patience."   
  
His smile is so lopsided, it's threatening to fall off of his face. "Ganauche the _Third_."   
  
Well. That narrows things down. Reborn takes him in again. His eyes don't miss how, in the light of the hallway, maybe it's not pure white, but perhaps a tint of green. Besides that, he doesn't share any standout features with Ganauche the First. "Any actual relation, or simply passing down the name?" Reborn's always been of the quiet opinion that very few of Timoteo's guardians actually use their real names. Then again, it's not as though he can judge.   
  
Ganauche the Third shrugs, a complete non-answer, and forges on ahead before Reborn decides to shoot his feet out from under him. "I wanted to talk to you before you left for the Cavallone Family, actually. I thought you might appreciate knowing a few things before you got there. The sooner, the better, right?" He waits for Reborn's nod, signalling him to go ahead, and takes in a breath. Something in Ganauche's expression softens awkwardly, a curve of his brow that foreshadows bad news moments before it's said. His voice is quiet. "Don Cavallone is dying."   
  
The news is an armtwist of quiet surprise. Not a lie, either, which he's gotten good at sniffing out. There's an honest sadness lurking in Ganauche's eyes. Reborn hasn't heard of any gang wars in that area of Italy, or assassination attempts, so he makes a reasonable guess. "Illness?"  
  
"Yeah, that's right."   
  
Don Cavallone, Cavallone Nono, is a name that Reborn has been acquainted with for many years now. He'd met the man when Daniela had still been alive. The ninth generation of mafia bosses is truly a surprise, honestly, to live for so long. It could just be because he doesn't work for the man, but Reborn's gotten along better with him than Timoteo. A little soft hearted when it comes to his Family and territory, but a proper mafioso in the better ways. He's another man Reborn hasn't talked to in years, not since he went on that final big job of Checkerface's.   
  
No small number of emotions pour through him as he lets the news sink in, and Reborn makes sure to keep it all under tight wraps. That doesn't stop Ganauche from picking something up, or guessing at least. "He still has some years ahead of him, but it's not getting any better no matter how many doctors he sees. The old man knows the two of you are acquainted, so..."  
  
"So you're saying this is a _favor_ to me?"  
  
Sensing the disbelief and annoyance in Reborn's tone, Ganauche puts his hands up innocently with the fingers spread out. _Don't shoot the messenger_. "Now, me, _I'd_ say it's more along the lines of taking out a few birds with one stone from the old man's point of view, but you can make of it what you will. I'd also say..." A pause to make sure he's not overstepping his boundaries, and he presses forward. "It's not a bad idea, taking advantage of the job to clear up any loose ends before Don Cavallone... You know. People like us, in this world, we don't live long to start with. May as well make the most of what time there is." He finishes with a shrug.   
  
Make the most of what time there is, huh? Reborn fights it, but his mind drifts to Viper again. Just like all the times before, the thoughts are accompanied by a sting straight into his heart. Had they made the most of their time together? Had he really managed to do everything he could with them, for them? The strike through their name on his back makes the answer obvious. He'd forgotten himself. Chasing the thoughts out of his head, Reborn tilts his head back up at Ganauche. "It sounds as though you're speaking from personal experience."   
  
There's that lopsided smile again. Behind it, a little unreadable, are darker emotions. "Well, I am carrying around a dead man's name and a dead man's ring." He shrugs dismissively.   
  
A little tactlessly, Reborn asks, "How did he die?" Rude, no doubt, but he's running from his own misery.   
  
Ganauche doesn't take offense anyway. He merely starts going through the pockets of his jacket. "Shot. I mean, I guess he could have made it if he was, what... five years younger?" He pulls out a small hard candy. "But he was on blood thinners, so..." _He bled out quick_ goes unsaid. Reborn nods. Age and experience couldn't save you from your own body's weaknesses. It's been something that he's had to grapple with for years now, body shrunken and weaker like it is. Before he can get lost in his thoughts again, Ganauche holds up another bit of candy while the other gets popped into his mouth. "Do you want one? Visconti and the old man keep giving me these because their sense of humor is, as always _terrible_ and they think it's funny."  
  
It probably says something about Reborn's own age and sense of humor that it's the first amusing thing he's heard in years. He doesn't smirk, but he wants to. "It would likely help if you stopped eating them."   
  
"And waste food? Never."  
  
"How often does Coyote threaten you to stop calling Nono 'old man'?"  
  
"More times than bears repeating. Hey, are you going to take this or not?"  
  
  
  
  
  
Dino Cavallone, tenth in his lineage, heir to the Family and its territory, is a coward and a fool.   
  
He's not an _idiot_ , Reborn notes immediately when he does some cursory snooping as one does. The boy is surprisingly sharp in regards to numbers, which will be a handy thing when it comes to figuring out the finances of the Cavallone in the future. Still, while there have been bosses who have supplemented combat skills with intelligence and wit, they've all at least had a spine. Dino doesn't. Also, frankly, his actual combat skills are _atrocious_. It's going to be a lot of work over a long period of time. Reborn tries not to let it gnaw on him. Instead, he does his job. He acts like a professional.   
  
...Even if "professional" means throwing his student to the literal wolves on more than one occasion. What can he say? It helps build character.   
  
It works, at any rate. Dino _does_ get some sort of character built, even if it's one built out of trying to out-sly his teacher so that he doesn't have to deal with any training. A pity that it's a game Reborn has decades of experience over him in. Yet it's not the kind of development he's looking for, so one day, he lets the poor fool escape back to his home... Right into a territory war.   
  
Reborn doesn't intervene. He could, of course. His first order of business is even slipping into the Cavallone estate to check in on Don Cavallone, and subtly offer his services. Old acquaintances and the dying get some leeway in regards to this sort of thing. After all, despite the underworld's rumor mill, he does have a heart. There's no need to dwell deeply on it. Don Cavallone, as he suspected he would from the start, refuses. So Reborn goes back to his original plan. He watches.   
  
He watches as his student quakes before the rival gang's posturing. As he nearly buckles from the weight of the townspeople's expectations. As he manages to summon up some semblance of a spine for a meeting with the enemy boss, only for it to collapse in spectacular fashion which results in him running _off a ship and diving into the sea_.   
  
It'd be more impressive, if not for the mess his cowardice causes.   
  
Reborn watches as Don Cavallone, ninth of his Family, uses shaking hands to holster his guns and listens to the man's final words. Listens to a father's love and lack of regrets despite everything.   
  
Everyone has to learn the kind of lesson people like Reborn and Ganauche had learned long ago. That doesn't mean Reborn has to like it, even if it pushes Dino through for the better.   
  
"He called for me before that big battle, you know," Dino sighs, years later on the anniversary of Cavallone Nono's death. It's just the two of them, now, although Reborn knows Romario is waiting down at the cemetery gates. The hitman shows at least a little respect, standing and not leaning against any gravestones that are twice his height. His student is more relaxed, in that way where lingering grief rises up again after being forgotten to weigh down on the shoulders. It's brought the young don down, seated in the grass. For today, Reborn doesn't scold him about the stains it might leave on his pants. At least they're black. "I should have gone to see him, but I was too terrified of everything, I just wanted to hide. My last chance, and I ruined it. I still regret that."  
  
If there's one thing Reborn could write a novel on, it's regrets and loved ones. At least the pain isn't so bad, now. He can think of Viper, and it's now an ache more instead of a knife twist. He can move on without being sucked into anger and regret. Grudgingly, he might have to admit Timoteo was onto something. For now, he focuses on the present and his student. "There's not a single person who doesn't have something they wish they could have done differently. At the very least, as a boss, you've made this Family something he'd be proud to see." Unable to help himself, he adds, "Of course, I expect you to continue improving."  
  
Dino's huff could be laughter or exertion as he pushes himself forwards, resting his arms on his knees. "There's no need to worry. I have no plans to warrant your spartan training methods when you're dissatisfied."   
  
"Oh, does that mean I've been going easy on you?" Delight that's absolutely inappropriate flickers through him at the way Dino flails in response. As it turns out, there's a bonus to this 'teaching' thing after all. Reborn knows he's ill-suited to being a boss himself, so he'll never really have _subordinates_ to torture. Messing with a singular student, however? Much easier.   
  
"That's not funny!" Dino whines, an undercurrent of uncertainty beneath it. Wisely, he's not dismissing the idea that Reborn really might switch gears on him without warning. The lesson of 'stay on your toes' has stuck to Cavallone Decimo. Good. After a moment, however, the young man relaxes and lowers the hands he'd held up in defense. "Ah, but, you know... Even with my father gone, at least you were around. I'm grateful for that."   
  
Something in Reborn's center starts at the comparison. Maybe it's not his oblivious student's intent, to draw a connection to parenthood, yet now that it's been made... It's strange, since he had discarded that sort of domestic dream when he'd first picked up a gun. Then again, maybe he can't be surprised. Eventually, as mourning starts to ease up, sometimes people move on. They let other people help ease the absence in their lives.   
  
There's still a name on his back he doesn't know. For the first time in years, Reborn ponders investigating it.   
  
"So do you _really_ have to go?" Dino continues, pleading. Reborn's thoughts had all flickered by in less than a second, and he dismisses them for a later date. For now, he focuses on his student with a quirked eyebrow.   
  
"Don't ask stupid questions. You know this is a job from Vongola Nono. There's no way I can refuse. And besides..."  
  
"There's no one else." The words carry themselves on his soft sigh, a sound contrastingly light and heavy. Something to do with the subject matter, no doubt. Dino knows just as well as Reborn that every one of Timoteo's sons are deceased, now. The underworld has taken those men down even deeper. A hint of movement catches Reborn's attention; he watches as Dino rubs at his wrist where two timers lay inscribed against his wrist. They've been there long before he met his student, and they've been at zero since he did. Dino's bond to his soulmates. Reborn would kick him to go find them before any regrets, but he's overheard whispered conversations over the phone in the night.   
  
If there's one thing Reborn can empathize with, it's having to chase after your own soulmate.   
  
"I could have sworn there was a fourth," Dino carries on, muttering, before he shakes his head. "Anyway, I guess there's no helping it." For once, he pulls himself out of nostalgic loss and grins. "He's in Japan, right? Maybe I'll come by to visit sometime as a good role model!"  
  
"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" Still, Reborn smiles slightly. It's something to keep in mind, if his new student is as hapless as his reports say.  
  
When he finally arrives in Japan, a little bit of reconnaissance proves that the reports have been on point. Sawada Tsunayoshi, son and only child of CEDEF's boss Sawada Iemitsu, is amazingly worse than Dino was at the start. At least with the other boy, now matured into a man, he'd had his smarts. There's no sign of that in Tsuna. Reborn can't even call the boy "average"; he's _below_ that. Oh well. Challenges have always excited him.   
  
(And there's something more, a decades worth of accumulated instinct and intuition murmurs. In the dredges of his memory, he thinks of portraits worth fortunes hanging in the Iron Fortress. He thinks of old Vongola bosses. Tsuna is a Japanese teenager, but something in the not-quite-brown of his eyes makes Reborn think of golden hair and capes.)   
  
With such a troublesome charge, at the very least he gets to have fun. Tsuna's reactions are starbursts of panic and exasperation, matching the energy of every event that gets thrown at him. That's the fun part of his work. The professional part of his work means aggressively pushing at the boy's endurance, and coaxing to him Family to rely on. No small amount of satisfaction rings through him when a survey of Namimori Middle already shows three separate individuals that could be good Guardians. Tsuna is only vaguely connected to one, knows of another, and lives in fear of the last, but that's alright. He has no one, no family or friends to be at his side.   
  
Reborn teaches him about the value of Family.   
  
Months of such lessons, and they all come in handy when the first trouble raises its head. Reborn had known it would come, eventually. Mafia heirs are magnets for trouble to start with. Tsuna will inherit the most powerful Family in the world. Prisoners breaking out to target him aren't unusual. Like he had, so long ago with Dino's first trial, Reborn watches.   
  
He watches as Tsuna quakes in fear at being a target, freezes up from guilt when his Family sheds blood for him, and fights his own cowardice.   
  
He watches him become willing to shed his _own_ blood, offer understanding to a broken man, and bring a child back from the depths of mind control with only his empathy.   
  
Reborn is there to watch when Tsuna straightens his spine and wears a crown of flame when he shows a hardened criminal the strength of his Will.   
  
"You'll die because of that ridiculous kindness of yours," Mukuro Rokudo had said, voice flat despite the smirk which rested on his face, and Reborn reflects on the words while resting against his student's side when they're carried out on a stretcher. It might very well turn out to be true. Any other mafioso would be glad for Mukuro and his gang's deaths or suffering. Yet Tsuna, still wearing the wounds they'd leveled against him and his Family both, had worried over the illusionist's life. Had clearly shown an empathizing ache when Ken had spilled the story.  
  
Really, he hopes this tendency for soft hearted students isn't going to be a _thing_. Despite the thoughts, however, Reborn smiles to himself. If that's the case, he'll just have to train him even harder so he can survive and thrive in the underworld with that ridiculous kindness intact. For the first time in a while, he wonders what Viper would have said to that. They probably would have scoffed at the dramatics of it all, despite being just as bad themself on occasion.   
  
A ghost of pain at the name, but nothing more. Life moves on.  
  
Life moves on, as it turns out, right into another mess not even a month after Mukuro's intrusion into Namimori. The Varia, the Vongola Rings moving, matters of inheritance- it's all far too early for a teenager who's still 80% civilian. Still, he can handle this. Reborn isn't the best for nothing. He arranges teachers for the other guardians who can actually be taught, quietly laments certain choices Iemitsu has made, and aggressively amps up Tsuna's training schedule. Even with all his skills, however, things move faster than any one of them is expecting.   
  
Night. Autumn is still nipping away the last of summer, but you'd never know it with the way energy fills up the little spot on the street. Reborn casts a discerning eye over the three teenagers that have instinctively grouped together around the kids. Not bad. Quiet energy hums through Ryohei's fists, a summer's glorious sun, and Yamamoto handles his sword with smooth practice instead of a child guessing. Gokudera is the one lagging behind, but Reborn can't say he's surprised there. His temperament and Shamal's personality aren't the best combination. He's confident that once the young Storm is done, he'll be a reckoning force. Just a few more days are what he needs.   
  
A shame Reborn is fairly certain they don't have that long.  
  
"He's coming," he notes, feeling as Leon's toes curl into his fedora, but it's not only Varia's Levi A Than. Reborn ignores the scrape of Gokudera's dynamite and scuffle of Ryohei's sneakers against the ground. All of his senses are focused on the darkness cloaking the trees behind the assassin. He can't see the trees shiver, but he can hear the leaves tremble and boots shifting against them, subtle and professional. A group leaps out to align behind their Lightning, and Reborn is already set to analyse all of-  
  
  
  
  
  
"It looks like there are other wielders of the Rings here as well."  
  
  
  
Reborn stares.   
  
  
  
Reborn stares and can't do anything but that because his mind has frozen solid.   
  
A tiny figure ten times smaller than the giant behind them steps off of its boot as they glance over the teenagers on the street below the Varia. Drawn over their head is a hood, but its shadows don't hide the two identical markings that curve down both their chubby cheeks. Unlike the rest of the officers gathered, their outfit isn't fitted. It's a small cloak, hiding the shape of their body. No golden salamander curls around their shoulders. In its place is a small fat frog, who seems content to glare down at everyone with beady red eyes.   
  
_Viper!_ whispers a part of his mind, latching onto the familiar agonizing pain wrapped around his heart.   
  
_It can't be!_ hisses another part, noticing the frog and lack of the pacifier's glow.   
  
Along his spine, a single name burns nostalgically.  
  
As much as he could stare at the other child forever in an attempt to solve the mystery of _why the hell do they look like his dead soulmate_ , more pressing matters require his attention. For example: the matter of the incredibly murderous aura aimed directly at his student. Reborn locks away his emotions and thoughts regarding the small figure, and gets back to the matter at hand.   
  
It's only after- after Tsuna has been left to shake in his bed, when his Guardians have dispersed- that Reborn hunts down Basil. He hasn't developed the tendency to run away like his master, fortunately, and Reborn asks the most pressing question in his mind: the name of the Varia's Mist Guardian.   
  
"Their Mist?" With paperwork strewn about him, Basil pauses. Reborn can nearly see the way his mind processes the inquiry and goes through all his education on the big names of the underworld. Soon enough, he nods. "They go by the name of Mammon."  
  
Mammon. A demon of _greed_.   
  
War rages through his mind as he returns to the Sawada's quaint little residence, a long walk he barely notices. Everything adds up. Nothing does. Their markings match, but the frog is new. An illusionist proud of their greed, yet his pacifier hadn't reacted to the presence of another Arcobaleno. Is it another illusionist simply using Viper's reputation as a guise? He hadn't gotten the impression of Mist flames... It's like being buried under an avalanche, up until he's stepping into Tsuna's room at long last. Around one in the morning, by Reborn's estimate, and yet the teenager looks close to a heart attack with the way his face is contorted. Just like that, Reborn remembers what he's here for.   
  
He's a professional. There's no time to worry about his soulmate problems when his student needs his teacher and Family.   
  
Besides, Reborn knows patience. He knows it from spending long hours waiting for the perfect chance to carry out a hit. In this case, it's a less literal hit, and more waiting for the inevitable battle of Mist.   
  
That doesn't make it easy to stop watching them with every battle that passes, however.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Viper."   
  
The name leaves his mouth with more confidence than he feels, with more _calm_ than he feels. Chasing after them in the aftermath of the Mist Battle has been a trial in and of itself. At least Tsuna hadn't been unconscious and could be ushered back home on his own without being carried. Reborn can only imagine how cold his soulmate's trail would have been if he'd had to waste time on that.   
  
Then again... Maybe he can't really say he followed any sort of trail this time.  
  
Years have passed since he's been at their side. Since he was curled around them, coaxing insects to tend to the plants that populated their little room in that lodge, listening to the illusionist chatter passionately about the flames that pulsed gently throughout the whole world. _Years_. Yet he can remember such occurrences as if they'd only happened yesterday. It's why he'd known to come to a place like this- a field of sunflowers which glow determinedly in what sparse moonlight there is.   
  
The name still humming white hot on his spine helps too.   
  
From amidst flowers taller than them by meters, his soulmate gives a disdainful sniff. The very sound tugs at his temper, enough that Reborn has to struggle not to give in. He keeps his eyes locked on them until they finally look to him and, yes, the hood pulled back confirms everything. A few features have been changed, since that's what happens when you're turned back into a baby, but all the important details are there. Hair, eyes, the marks not obstructed by shadow... Honestly, he should have recognized them by the shape of their pout alone. No one else pouts quite like them. It gets all the more intense as they stare at him before they sharply turn away again, clinging to a sunflower they've cut. "What do _you_ want?"  
  
His temper snaps out of his grip. "I came to find you because I was concerned about my _soulmate_ , who I haven't seen for _years_ -"  
  
In his memories, the sunflowers clustered around them could be towering trees. Shimmering moonlight could give way to dawn's rays at any moment. All because, before he's even finished talking, Viper- Mammon now- is whirling on them with their teeth bared. The Mist pulsing out from the salamander around their shoulders is more intimidating, even though Reborn knows it's all for show. "And whose fault is _that_!?"  
  
Being slapped in the face with a wet fish would have surprised him less than those words. While he's still reeling over the accusation that he's responsible for _their_ choice, Mammon keeps charging straight ahead viciously. "At least I was _doing_ something for all those years, instead of playing teacher to some snot nosed heir!"   
  
Dino's reference snaps him out of it. "How do _you_ know the business with the Cavallone Famiglia?"  
  
Since he's apparently been bound to the most difficult person in the world, Mammon doesn't answer. They merely sniff at him and cling to their sunflower harder. Reborn throttles the urge to throttle _them_ , partially because he's not going to be the kind of scum who abuses his soulmate, partially because they're in no position to defend themself. The Battle of Mist took a lot out of all three illusionists, leaving everyone to lick their wounds. So he forces in a deep breath past his teeth, demanding his blood to cool. His hat shifts, weight lifting as Leon scurries to the ground, and he barely notices Fantasma as well. All his attention is on calming himself and making sure his soulmate doesn't try to run again.  
  
When he can talk without yelling, Reborn forces out, "I thought you were _dead_."  
  
"What?" Their stubborn anger flickers, expression easing up briefly in confusion. "Why would you think something that stupid?"  
  
Why- He stares. Suddenly, every single memory he has of their time together needs to be shoved underneath a microscope. The realization is so obvious now in hindsight that he feels like a damn fool. Needing to know it, he swallows thickly and says one word.   
  
"Adriana."  
  
Pure shock destroys every semblance of anger from their face, and the surprise in plain moonlight is all the confirmation he needs. In his own body, he can feel his anger drop down to the soles of his feet. There's no surprise when they respond, "How do you know that name!?" He'd feel more guilty at the panicked hitch in their voice if he wasn't so tired.  
  
As it is, he's just tired enough to play a little unfairly. "How did you know about my job, Mammon?"  
  
Their lips purse together, and for a second he thinks he's pushed too much in his anger. "I kept track of you once I got the resources from the Varia," they finally admit, fingers digging into their coat. "They're a group under the Vongola, so it was the perfect position."   
  
"You knew where I was, and _you_ didn't come looking for me?"  
  
"Because you didn't try for me!" There's the rage again in Mammon, their foot stomping weakly against the dirt. "You- and everyone else, no one was doing _anything_! Skull's stupid, and that dumb interloper too, and Fon, but you? Or, or Verde!?" Their small voice rises higher. "Everyone just laid back and _accepted_ this! I was doing research for _months_ , trying to figure out what had happened to us exactly, to see if I could find a way to reverse it. I'm  _still_ working! I didn't have enough resources on my own, which is why I joined the Varia in the first place, and then when I went to see what you were doing-" Their breath catches and that's it, he only has so much restraint. He starts to approach them, and Mammon lets him. "You were just carrying on like always, like it didn't matter, like-" Vindictively, they bite down on their words. Even at the physical age their body is at, tears look strange welling up in their eyes. "So I went back to work. If you weren't going to fix it, then at least _I'd_ figure out a way to make us normal again."   
  
The tears start dripping at that, a fact which seems to upset them all the more. Their whole frame shakes with a hiccup as they scrub at their face viciously. How long have they been holding these emotions in? Reborn suspects, by the names on his back and their story, that it's been for many years now. Carefully, he pulls a handkerchief out from his suit pocket and offers it to them. "The first name written and struck out on my back," he says quietly, "is Adriana."   
  
Mammon stares at him.   
  
"After that is Pichi. Avery. Min." He could smile, although it'd be a humorless one. "Viper became crossed out after a year since the curse started. I've never been able to read the most recent name but... Its form looks like it could very easily be 'Mammon'."  
  
Another hiccup, and the unflattering splotches of red along their face get all the more intense. "That's..."  
  
"It's always been you, hasn't it?" Reborn wants to break down laughing. It's not funny, honestly, but... "All these years, and I never once lost my soulmate. I just had the luck of being bound to someone who kept changing their name."  
  
"I didn't..." Their hiccups cut their wobbling words apart, and Mammon tries again. "I didn't know that. I didn't even know name bonds _worked_ like that." Again, with a hint of desperation- "I never saw your back. Really. I would have..."  
  
Raised an unholy rucks. Reborn knows. The years haven't changed either of them very much, he supposes. "I always slept on my back, and we always had sex facing each other."  
  
"You were always so weird about not being covered, too," Mammon sniffs, finally accepting the handkerchief. "This is so... No one thinks that if they've never seen their soulmate's bare _back_."  
  
No, no one really does. Heaving out a sigh, he breaks down just a little to rub at his face. "I spent that year seeing if any of my informants had heard of your location," he murmurs. "When 'Viper' became crossed out on my back... That's when I stopped looking."  
  
"I didn't know," they repeat, a hapless mumble hidden behind the handkerchief. Before he can figure out a way to respond, Mammon continues. "And I can't even have sex with you to make up for it, _dammit_."   
  
They're still catching him offguard even now. Biting down a startled amused noise, Reborn shakes his head. "That's where your priorities are?"   
  
How much red is from anger, tears, or their own embarrassment is hard to tell as Mammon stubbornly glares down at the grass. "That's..." It's nearly visible, the way their words are trapped in their throat and all the force it takes to push them out. "When things were normal, that's what you liked. I know that. With how we are now, I don't.." Annoyance filters out between their teeth, a muffled noise from both the handkerchief and their intense emotions. Reborn's waited years since they split apart. He can wait a little longer as they try to draw themself together.   
  
"We didn't know," he tries regardless, hoping to nudge it along. There's only so much energy in him for once. Mammon's head jerks up at that, and he recognizes that way their mouth screws up in frustration.   
  
"Don't give me that!" And their snapping words frays more at what bits of his temper he'd gathered together again.   
  
"Give you what, exactly!?"  
  
"That placating nonsense!"   
  
"Do you _want_ me to yell at you!?"   
  
"What, do you mean to tell me you're not pissed-"   
  
" _Of course I am!_ " It bursts out of him, words hotter than his bullets, and Reborn pulls back with a grimace. Everything he's worked to smooth after, and their whole presence disrupts it again. An aggravated tug of his hat over his eyes, and he takes a breath. Glancing up at them again, however, shows something strangely satisfied mingled with the splotches of embarrassment and bright misery.   
  
Mammon sniffs. "Idiot."   
  
"So you _did_ want me to yell."   
  
"Don't be a fool. It's simply that..." Another twist of their mouth. "I'm..." The words break down into frustration again, and Reborn watches as they stomp their foot fast and hard against the ground. "I know it was my fault!" Mammon spits the words out, too awkward and clumsy to stay in their mouth. "And after we'd... talked. Those months before the curse happened. I know. So." Their heel grinds into the grass. "You're allowed to yell instead of being the ridiculous control freak you like to be."   
  
From someone with Mammon's amount of pride, it's the best apology they know how to give. Anger still prickles on the back of his neck, over the list of names. He's always been rageful that way. At the same time, he looks at them and sees them actually verbalizing their fault. They said they'd kept an eye on him, worked for a future including both of them, all while thinking he had done them wrong. Undoing the knot of emotions it all brings is almost impossible with them standing right before him, staring at him with just as much feeling in their own stare.   
  
Except then they're not staring at him at all, instead making an offended noise. "Fantasma! Stop fraternizing with the enemy!"  
  
For the love of- exasperated, feeling fondness at the edges, Reborn turns to follow their gaze. Leon has made himself right at home curled around the tired salamander. The fact that she's twice his size doesn't seem to be a problem he's bothered to consider. If anything, the attempt and his constant licking of her head seem to make her quite happy. One doesn't have to speak any sort of animal language to see that.   
  
"They're born from our flame and we're soulmates. Stop harassing the lizards."   
  
"Fantasma is an _amphibian_ , not a lizard." Emphasizing just how insulted they are at his disregard for semantics, the sunflower in Mammon's hands is swung down at his head. Sidestepping it, Reborn sighs. It's not as tired as he though it would be.   
  
"Is the difference between lizards and amphibians really what you want to talk about right now?"  
  
Even before they speak, he can see the answer is the tentative aversion of their eyes and the way they heft the sunflower back up against their shoulder. "...No. Did you want to talk?"  
  
"I want to actually _see_ you again, but..." His mouth scrunches up. "If we don't clear things up, there's no guarantee this won't happen again. _I_ won't have any guarantee this won't happen again."   
  
No argument. The sunflower bobs with their nod, and Mammon wearily flops down onto the ground. With the battle they've already gone through tonight, he can see the reason for their lack of care. Somehow, he still thinks of grass stains on his pants, the thought making him frown, before he settles down with them more slowly. As he adjusts, Mammon rubs at their face. "It's hard to get rid of decades of habit," they mutter, "or to build up a new one out of the blue. And, just- I thought I could fix it. I thought while the curse was still fresh, there'd be... _Information_ , things I could pull apart and learn about. Something. Anything. After the research went cold, after a year..."  
  
"You thought I stopped caring about you." The thought still hurts, salt in the wound. He can imagine it easily, at least- the illusionist driven by their passion and desperation, pouring over every bit of notes they'd made on Dying Will Flames in their life. Mammon huddles under the sunflower further.   
  
"Arguing would just eat up time I could be using to fix things. That's what I thought. And I was still." A grimace spasms across their face, so bare without their hood to hide them. "I was still angry at you."   
  
"So it was that important and you were that angry at me?"  
  
Rage snaps through every bit of them as Mammon twists their head to glare at him. "How can you say that!? This curse changed _everything_! For the worst! Maybe you're all content to do nothing-"   
  
"No one is content-!"  
  
"But I'm not!" Mammon's voice rises. "I'm not going to end up like _Luce_!"  
  
Silence wafts between them, carried on the same breeze that tugs at the field. "No one," Reborn says, voice trembling with- too any emotions to name, "is going to end up like Luce."   
  
"You can't promise that!" A series of hiccups wracks their childish frame, and they have to pause in their yelling. When they next speak, it's in a rasp. "No one knows how this curse works. It's infuriating, the lack of information on it. For all we know, Luce isn't a unique case. We all might die early, stuck like this. I refuse. I'm not going to let us die a dog's death."  
  
"All of us?"  
  
Letting the majority of the sunflower's weight rest on him, Mammon buries their face in his handkerchief again. "You and me. The others, if they pay me enough." After a considerate sniffle, they add, "Fon has to beg me."  
  
Over a decade, and their petty grudge hasn't lessened in the slightest. Amazing. Any other night, and he'd smile at it. For now, he just lets the flowers' scent rest over them as he draws himself back from the brink of misery. "Are you still angry?" he asks quietly, after a few seconds of quiet.   
  
"Idiot." They rub at their still blazing face. "I'm angry, but not at you."  
  
For some reason, that's what draws a weary smile out of his face. "I never did take you as one for self loathing or embarrassment."  
  
"Tch." They whap the sunflower at him again, and he pushes it away with his hand. "I just- I thought you'd _know_. I did research before I accepted the offer. The Varia is like CEDEF, it's linked to the Vongola. It's not like a powerful illusionist going around with a name stolen from a _demon of greed_ wouldn't be a big red flag if you looked. But..."  
  
"I didn't look," he finishes for them. "Because I thought you were dead."   
  
They twist the sunflower in their hands. "You thought I was dead," they mutter. Another hiccup. "This whole thing is just so... stupid."   
  
It is. If only it was something either of them had done. As it is, the whole mess is just the result of some strange quirk of fate, and Reborn breathes out from between his teeth. It couldn't be anymore unsatisfying. For a moment, he wishes he wasn't on such a longterm job in need of such immediate attention. He wants to isolate himself and reign in all his frustration. Instead, he stores it away as best he can while offering, "I'll contact Colonello and find a way to keep you away from the Varia."   
  
They stare blankly at him with red rimmed eyes. "Why?"  
  
"...Mammon, Xanxus said he was going to kill you for not finishing the Mist battle."  
  
"No he won't."   
  
That's it. Reborn tugs his brim over his eyes and takes a deep breath. The curse isn't what's going to kill him, his soulmate's ridiculous attitude is what's going to kill him.  
  
"I'll bite. Why won't he kill you?"  
  
"It's against our contract." Yes, cause of death: Mammon. As Reborn mentally despairs at their nature, the illusionist stubbornly keeps going. "I was being paid to go up against some oblivious middle schooler. He knows by now that I won't do anything beyond what I'm paid for. I'm definitely not going to risk too much harm going up against some felon who was a pain for the Vindice." Before Reborn can point out all the flaws there, Mammon cuts him off. "I would have won if I weren't like this. You know I would have!"   
  
Reborn pauses his train of thought, staring at their furrowed brows and bared teeth. There's no more frustrated tears threatening to well up. Only injured pride. Their hackles lower slowly as he agrees. "I know you would have." He lets out a breath. "I half expected you would, or a draw if nothing else."   
  
A series of hiccups keeps Mammon from responding to him immediately. "This body is too young. It can't handle the amount of Flame I _should_ have. My vocal chords haven't even developed enough so that I can use Mirage R. It's why Fantasma is like she is." Leaving Mammon to fight their hiccups, Reborn glances at the salamander and drags up old memories of the talks the two of them used to have. "I store Flames inside her... but it's still not enough."  
  
"If it's not enough," Reborn tries again, "then you shouldn't take any chances against someone like Xanxus."  
  
"I'm telling you, he won't kill me." Mammon glowers at him. "I do all of the Varia's finances anyway, and without me, it'll be a _disaster_. And..." Their words trail off, aggravation exchanged for contemplation. "...That Cloud Guardian you chose. Do you think he'll really win in that battle tomorrow night?"  
  
This is quite a change of conversation. It makes Reborn's attention sharpen again. "Hibari Kyoya? He's always been the strongest out of Tsuna's circle. Xanxus seems confident in Gola Mosca... But I have my eldest student confident in Hibari as a counter." Honestly, it's hard for Reborn to read the person- if it even is that. No body language, no words, and something about it makes his skin crawl. "If I had to say, and I'm doubting you'd let me go without a definite answer, then I would say yes. He will."   
  
Nodding quietly, Mammon looks away from him. He lets them have their thoughts, and is rewarded when they speak again. "Whether it's a win or a loss, he'll need me. He can't afford to lose his Mist Guardian."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really." They make a face at him. "That's all I'll say. We're on opposing jobs, after all. _Again_."  
  
"I suppose it would be too much to wish for that you did it on purpose this time as well." When they don't answer, merely puff out their cheeks, he blinks. "...So you did."  
  
"I told you there were reasons I joined the Varia," they mutter. "The money and privacy were just a few of them."  
  
"I'm truly touched." Even with his tone, and the way Mammon kicks at him for it, he means it in a strange way. It soothes some of his anger, although he can't say much for the emotional exhaustion filling his mind like cotton. He's going to need a lot of rest and morning coffee tomorrow so that his training of Tsuna is nothing but his best. "So there's no convincing you, is there?"  
  
Mammon proudly jerks their chin up. "I'm a professional. I'm sticking through this job until the end. Then, after we've won and after I've solved this asinine curse, I'll take care of that faux illusionist and remind you how it's _really_ done."   
  
"Faux illusionist?" His lips twitch up in a smile, for a second. He thinks he recalls something similar hissed during the fight. The answering scowl on their face is fantastic.   
  
"If you need to use a _weapon_ in an _illusion_ battle, then you may as well just banish yourself to freeze to death in the Arctic." A pause as they sniff, hiccups apparently gone now. "...And his name is idiotic. You may as well call him _Lucifer Deathson_."   
  
It's being in their twenties again, the floral scent in the air similar to that time in France when he'd coaxed them into having lunch outside, listening to their snippy words and wanting to laugh. This kind of exchange is so similar to the ones he can remember in the past. Why it'd hurt so much when he had thought he'd lost them. Thought he'd lost them. Aloud, he agrees, "It is pretentious. However, I'm not exactly sure _you_ can throw the first stone, greed demon." Not even going onto the names of their coworkers.   
  
Scowling from beneath the dropping sunflower, Mammon huffs. "It's classy and, anyway, I wanted you to recognize it." Their gaze shies away. "Even if that didn't go according to plan."   
  
That's putting it lightly. He wants to chase this conversation, keep them from never leaving his side, but... it's late. He has a student to train tomorrow. Reluctantly, Reborn starts to push himself up. "We'll talk about after all of this, whether or not you win _or_ lose. I need a way to contact you, either way," he makes sure to add. He's not going to let them slip between his fingers.   
  
No argument against his demand. Mammon finally puts the sunflower down on the ground, rustling through their pockets. Their small chubby hands write out information with practiced ease, better than he thought they'd be. It's tricky, after all... But then, they admitted they can't access their Flame as much anymore. Maybe this curse has forced them to be more active after all. "My Varia contact information, including my cell phone. Memorize it and destroy it so that no one else gets their hands on it. We're supposed to be an even more shadowy and secret criminal group than they usually are."  
  
"Mammon, Superbi Squalo got into a fight in broad daylight in front of countless civilians, yelling at the top of his lungs all the while."   
  
"...He held out for a week before that happened."  
  
Reborn wonders if the result says more about Basil or Squalo that it happened at all, but lets it slide. Instead, he reaches to take the paper they offer... and pauses. Their fingers linger against his, tentative, and he flicks his gaze up to their face. Mammon avoids his look, just staring down at the soft connection of skin against skin that neither of them have felt from one another for probably a decade. More, most likely. The latest name on his back, their latest name, sings pleasant lulling warmth into his flesh. He wonders if, even in the night's dark embrace, the world seems deeper and more colorful to them. They talked about a lot of things, once upon a time, but never really their sight.   
  
"I'll make it up to you," they say quietly, and a pause that says even better they'd rather not go into further detail. They do. "I don't know how. I'm tempted to default to stealing you one of Bel's credit cards so you can use it whenever, but I know you've never been wanting for money."  
  
An offer of money from Mammon of all people is the closest they'll ever come to bawling out an apology. Reborn shifts his hand against theirs, slotting his fingers through the gaps their own make. They're so foreign to one another now, these bodies nothing like how they knew. He thought he'd long adjusted to his, at least, but touching them makes everything strange once more. "There's nothing for it but to talk," he replies. It's all that can be done.  
  
Silence wraps around them, a moment between soulmates, and it's right as Reborn thinks about pulling away that Mammon breaks it. "Get your lizard away from Fantasma already, she needs rest, not suffocation."   
  
As it turns out, prying Leon from Fantasma is a more difficult task than Reborn would have thought. One is that Leon has always been obedient to him before. Two is that Fantasma, being a salamander, is obviously a bit slippery yet the added lubrication barely seems to help at all.   
  
("Can't she get any wetter?" he mutters, unable to believe his own words.   
  
"She's trying her best," Mammon retorts with a pout.)   
  
With hard work and coaxing, eventually the pair of animals are separated. Before Mammon can disappear, however, Reborn stops them with his hand on their sleeve. Leon now securely wrapped around his neck, Reborn sets first his hat on the illusionist's head and then his jacket around their shoulders. "Stay safe," he tells them, unable to stop his voice from going soft.   
  
Mammon curls their fingers around his coat, nudging their head back to peer up at him from beneath its dark brim. He can barely see their eyes in the shadows. "I'm still the best illusionist in the world, you now. The problem from tonight doesn't change that. Besides, I've worked with these fools for years. I know how to avoid them until the boss calms down." Awkwardly, they reach over to pat his arm. "...I'll be alright."  
  
The worry doesn't abate. Yet they've seen years without him, both before he laid eyes on them and after they'd parted for years. Maybe for a little while, just a few days more, he can trust their words to be true. His single nod is all Mammon needs before they step away, tiny dark form disappearing into the long stalks of sunflowers. He waits for the rustling to become distant before finally turning on his heel. The night is late, and it's a long way to the Sawada residence.   
  
Only fifteen minutes pass before a solution to this problem come to him on the road back into Namimori. Even off in the distance, Dino's hair catches gold in the moonlight as if he's another sunflower. Reborn comes to a stop, tilting his head back at his eldest student. "Running from Hibari Kyoya again?"  
  
Dino groans. "Don't joke. I asked him how he was feeling about tomorrow night, and he threatened to show me personally. If you let him loose in a mafia school, none of the other kids would have the slightest chance against him. It's probably for the better. He's the kind of troublemaker who wouldn't care what kind of political fallout his actions would make. Tsuna is going to have a hell of a time getting him to heel, but if he can do that..."  
  
"So you think he'll win the Cloud battle."  
  
"Absolutely." Confidence, thick and resolute, coats that one word and shines in his smile. That's all Reborn needs.   
  
"Good. Are you going to show up for it?"  
  
A grimace twists his face unattractively. "No... There's something I need to check up on." _That_ gets Reborn's attention. With how fond Dino had become of Tsuna right off the bat, the pride he has in Hibari as his tutor, and his own loyalty to Reborn... Apparently seeing something in Reborn's eyes, the blond hurriedly raises his hands up. "I told you, Kyoya will be fine! I have the utmost confidence in him. He doesn't need me loitering around. Besides, he'd probably claim I was trespassing on Namimori Middle property..."   
  
Having watched Hibari for over a year now, Reborn can't exactly deny that claim. Not only will Tsuna have to win over the violence-happy Snow White, but they'll probably have to get a crowbar to pry him from Namimori. A crowbar, and high grade explosives. Regardless, there's more to this story than what Dino is telling him. Reborn knows _all_ the young don's tells, even how he keeps his fingers curled around his whip so that he doesn't rub at his wrist where the timer lays. Since it's Dino, Reborn goes for the blunt approach. "What are you checking up on?"  
  
No surprises crosses Dino's expression, but his lips do twist at his complete lack of desire to talk about it. If it were anyone but Reborn, he suspects he'd wiggle out of answering one way or another. It's a good trait for a mafia boss. Reborn just doesn't let it be used on him by his hapless students. "It's... related to my soulmate. And I'm looking into what Xanxus has been even _doing_ these past years. I mean, up until now... He's been completely quiet. I promise I'll come find you if I find anything out, and if my own issues get settled with."  
  
So many secrets in his life lately, from the personal to the professional. Reborn thinks he's getting pretty sick of them all, even those accidental. Yet he looks up at Dino and knows he could push. It's in the twitchiness of his finger beneath the timer marked wrist, the desperation lining the furrow of his brow. Dino can't lie to him, and he'd give up any secrets if he asked. It's half a temptation. The other half of his mind thinks of a tiny figure all secrets, all Mist from hair to eyes to blood, who fumbles opening themselves to him and who he had still let go to disappear into sunflowers.   
  
Mammon's always told the truth to him when asked. Dino absolutely will... and somehow his trust in Reborn has become precious in the years he's taught the young don. He's not going to break it by pushing on such a sensitive subject.   
  
Besides, if Dino doesn't tell him, Reborn is sure he can always find some time to torment him as a friendly reminder to uphold his promises.   
  
"Where's your Family?" he replies, Sun flames in his legs to help make the leap up onto Dino's shoulder. His student's hand automatically comes up to help steady him, although it's not needed. "I'm amazed you didn't trip on your shoelaces coming to get me."  
  
"I'm not that bad!" he protests, turning around to head back where he came. "...And Lino is waiting in a car just around the corner."  
  
Even with Lino 'just around the corner', Dino still manages to trip half a dozen times and gets a bloody nose. The fifth time, while Dino is still on the ground groaning, Reborn stays standing on his back and shakes his head. Maybe he should be more worried about Dino accidentally killing himself before he can spill his information. That's one problem he doesn't have to worry about with Mammon. As the Mist battle showed, his soulmate prioritizes their own life over anything else to anything else. There's just the secrets to worry about.   
  
  
  
  
  
(Secrets, as it turns out, he absolutely should have pressed in _their_ case, a fact he swears in the back of his head about as he kneels by the worn and weak body of Vongola Nono. _God **dammit** , Mammon._)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Let's both be honest- this is by _far_ not the most immoral thing I've been paid to do."  
  
"I can't believe you."  
  
"If you'd seen the pay raise I would have received if this job went according to plan, you absolutely would believe me. Squalo and I spent a whole day going over the numbers. I would have needed a new bank account. My new facilities would have been amazing." As if they think it's his actual concern, they add defensively, "I would have convinced the boss to keep your contract with the Vongola, too."  
  
Atop his hat, Leon makes a disapproving clicking noise in place of Reborn shaking his head or, more revealingly, sinking his face into his hands. He's not surprised that their conversation is apparently going to end up a horrendous clash of personal and professional. That knowledge doesn't make it any less annoying.  
  
However much it might be a discussion for a more private venue, around them, the grounds of Nami Middle are bustling with activity in the aftermath of the Sky Battle. Outside of the Varia and the Vongola's newly chosen heirs, after all, most of them are freelancers of some sort. That's by no means stopping any of them- from the corner of his eye, he can see Colonello smacking Ryohei with his rifle to hurry him along. Good choice, he by far has the most amount of energy left out of all Tsuna's guardians. Elsewhere, even Shamal is offering help for all that it's directed solely to Chrome. Kokuyo's Joshima Ken and Kakimoto Chikusa are right to crowd around her warily, protectively, even if it's just their natural distrust towards anyone besides Mukuro.   
  
However, a handful of freelancers aren't enough. That leaves the Cavallone, some black suited men still lingering near the two Arcobaleno uncertainly while others assist the wounded. Reborn has half a mind to draw his gun to make them stop watching. "Well, this plan of Xanxus' failed," he says, glad that Dino's men are still smart enough to give the two of them space at the very least. "So you don't need to worry about that anymore. Instead, what you _do_ need to worry about is the hell the Vongola main Family is going to bring down on the Varia."  
  
"Oh," Mammon murmurs, venomous glee softly interwoven in their voice, "they wouldn't _dare_ touch me. Not with how I am now. I wouldn't let them anyway. As one of the Arcobaleno, I'm too important. This curse is useful in that aspect, if nothing else."   
  
"As for the rest of the Varia?"  
  
They sigh in frustration. "Even _without_ the coup being successful, the pay is really too good... I suppose I'll have to do my best to convince that geezer and his guardians to not kill them off for good. This whole thing _is_ their fault, after all. And anyway..." Mammon turns their head, and Reborn follows their gaze. Still by the viewing area, Dino is deep in heated but quiet conversation with Squalo. Even as the pair of Arcobaleno watch, the young don rubs at his timer-marked wrist in frustration.   
  
"Soulmates," Reborn sighs.   
  
"Soulmates," Mammon confirms smugly. "I'm positive that the Bucking Horse didn't go to all this effort _solely_ to keep a source of information alive." A pause. "Besides, I've heard Squalo yelling at him over the phone for the past eight years."   
  
What bad luck his student has- a soulmate that seems more devoted to a overly violent and arrogant person like Xanxus than his own bond. Then again, from what he's seen of Squalo, the swordsman isn't much better.   
  
"Now, can you call off the Cavallone dogs through your student? I have to collect Lussuria and see if Levi is still alive."   
  
On the other hand, his own soulmate's morals have shown to be just as questionable and he's fairly certain he's playing second fiddle to capitalism.  
  
Well, he can use this to his advantage as well. A sharp whistle is enough to drag Dino's head out of his hands, glancing straight over to Reborn. He doesn't even have to nod his head before his eldest student is gesturing for Romario to keep watch over Squalo and coming over. "Something wrong?" His eyes warily flit over to Mammon, whose pout indicates a glare.   
  
"I'm stepping in to go examine the other two Varia officers. Let your men know."  
  
"By yourself?"  
  
Reborn sends him a blank look to remind him that he's being an idiot. As Dino fights back the urge to twitch, Reborn adds, "I'll be accompanying Mammon."   
  
Another glance gets sent Mammon's way, and there's another glare-pout in return before Dino's gaze flicks back to Reborn. He can almost see the gears in Dino's head turn, which makes it easy to note the realization which lights up his eyes. Fortunately, assisted by a wisdom hard earned from being shot at repeatedly, he doesn't say a word. He knew he taught him well. "I'll keep them focused here. We need more hands for treating the wounded than anything else besides." All he needs to do is nod to his men, and they clear off. Pride curls in Reborn's chest. Brushing it aside, he turns away from the scene and heads off with Mammon.   
  
"Well," they tell him after a few minutes of walking, "at least you've trained him well."   
  
'Taught' is technically the proper term, but he doesn't correct them. It's the same thing in the end anyway. "So why is it necessary for you in particular to tend to your coworkers?"  
  
"I'm the best one for it." Mammon shakes their head as they turn a corner towards where the Sun Ring battle had taken place. "Everyone responsible enough can't even use their legs, and Bel shouldn't be trusted with a grocery run."  
  
"Is there anything Bel _can_ be trusted with?"  
  
"Murder. Whether you want him to or not." As the pole and the occupied hospital bed near it come into view, Mammon adds quietly, "Anyway, I actually like Lussuria."   
  
Now that's high praise. High praise, or they've surprisingly grown up over near a decade. As they approach the propped up bed, Reborn takes a look over the Muay Thai boxer once more. He's doing surprisingly well for someone who got hit by a robot and then poisoned only a few days later. It's signs of a healthy Sun flame, if Reborn had to guess. Stopping in front of him, Mammon cranes their neck back to look at him. "It looks like you got a little help from the competition, Lussuria."   
  
"Weeeeell," Lussuria drawls, tilting his head coyly, "I might have given a _little_ encouragement. Now, are you going to introduce me to your Arcobaleno friend? I could have sworn you were quite icy to him even more than you usually are when in business mode."  
  
Mammon's cheeks puff out before they sign in resignation. Raising a hand, they gesture to Lussuria. "Reborn, this is Lussuria. She's the Varia's Sun Guardian and also the only person who has indepth medical training to ensure none of us die like imbeciles. She's very good at that."   
  
"I'd wave or shake your hand but, obviously, that'd be a problem," Lussuria says glibly while Reborn mentally recalibrates his reference of her.   
  
"Lussuria, this is Reborn. You know his reputation, so I'm not going to repeat it." Just as Reborn is wondering if they'll reveal their relationship, and if he should if they _won't_ , Mammon purses their lips. "...He's my soulmate."   
  
Reborn eases up, washing away the tension from potential secrecy. Better yet, it shows that Lussuria actually is to be trusted, so he gives a polite nod to her as the fighter grins widely. Mammon's shoulders are hunched up as if preparing for a kick to the face. "Oh _really_? How awkward to have met while on opposing assignments."   
  
"If it were the first time, maybe," Reborn says, watching from the corner of his eye as Mammon tugs at their hood.   
  
"Might have not talked in years," they add in a mutter, obviously hoping it doesn't get heard.   
  
It gets heard. Lussuria raises an eyebrow coolly, a sharp difference from the amused grin of earlier. " _Mammon_..." Is that actual scolding he hears in her voice? It absolutely is, a fact reinforced by Mammon's frustrated hiss.   
  
"I'm going to go make sure Levi hasn't bled to death!" they announce. Before anyone can say or do something to the contrary, Mammon disappears in a twist of reality. Shaking his head, Reborn tips the brim of his hat up. Lussuria's sigh makes him smirk, if only a little.   
  
"You've had eight years. You've had to get used to that."   
  
"Their little disappearing act, certainly. Still, leaving their poor adorable _soulmate_ , of all people, alone for years." He'd take more offense at 'adorable' if it wasn't accompanied by an overly dramatic sigh. Her teasing must drive her coworkers up the wall. "Then again, they've always floundered in this kind of area. That doesn't mean I won't scold them for you, assuming we're not all disposed of."   
  
She says it so casually, as much as anyone would talk about the weather. Truly Lussuria has been in the business a long time. If nothing else, she's professional, and Reborn can respect that. "There's no need. I've scolded them plenty."   
  
"Awwww." Lussuria shakes her head. "What a pity, I was looking forward to it. But, you know, if you ever need to get a hold of them and Mammon is ignoring you again, I _am_ their doctor as well as their coworker."  
  
"Well, if Nono gets rid of you all, I imagine you wouldn't be much use."   
  
"I suppose you're right. It's a shame no one is willing to speak on my behalf."   
  
Reborn smirks again. "Lussuria, are you attempting to bribe me?"  
  
"Hmm, is it working?"  
  
"I make no promises, but I'll see about putting in a good word." He tips his hat down again. "I can see why Mammon likes you."   
  
"They better. I'm the one who cuts their hair."  
  
Lussuria's existence, friendliness towards Mammon, and common sense make Reborn feel more at ease with this particular group of murderers the illusionist has sided with. In the few minutes they have alone with one another, he makes it his mission to coax every bit of information he can get out of the sole sensible Varia officer. Soon enough, however, there's the sound of rattling wheels. Turning to look, he sees another stretcher rattling of its own accord towards them. Illusion made, undoubtedly. Strapped in is a very crispy looking Levi A Than, and perched at the end of it is Mammon.   
  
"He's not dead, so we won't have to deal with having to recruit or test anyone," they announce as the stretcher screeches to a stop. "I'm sure Squalo will complain about that, but he's free to stay quiet while he's recovering from another near death experience."   
  
" _Another_ near death experience?" Reborn echoes dryly. Lussuria and Mammon, for all that both their eyes are completely hidden, exchange A Look.   
  
"Squ-chan is very passionate," Lussuria says.   
  
"He's a masochist," Mammon grumbles.   
  
"That too."  
  
As a set of illusionary tentacles reaches over to guide Lussuria's hospital bed, Mammon leans forward to speak more privately to Reborn. "When I'm done taking care of these messes, I'll.... see about getting any time off to come visit this backwater town of yours."  
  
"And I'll be sure to speak with Nono," Reborn replies, already having composed the words in his mind. "That should make your job at least a little easier." Which means that they'll almost be guaranteed survival. The ninth generation should remember his temper, and know well enough to leave alone the soulmate of the person training their sole heir.   
  
"Small blessings." They pause, and it doesn't get past him that Lussuria is practically straining her ears to eavesdrop on this. Mammon doesn't seem bothered, so Reborn ignores it. "...I promise we'll talk. I won't run away."   
  
"I'll be waiting," he promises right back, ignoring the ease melting through his own heart. Satisfied, perhaps even relieved themself although Reborn can't tell with their hood, Mammon straightens up again. As they take off, he leaps onto the stretcher as well to be carried off to the rest of the Cavallone and his exhausted student. Tonight, he's going to have a long deep sleep from how much this has tested him, too.   
  
For now, however, he can simply look forward to seeing Mammon next time.  
  
  
  
  
  
( _Next time_ is more than nine years later. _Next time_ is listening to an older Yamamoto, somber and worn down to bone, speak of the Varia losing its illusionist to overwhelming forces. _Next time_ is days and days of fighting, of tearing bloody victory out of a monster's maw, and staying in the shadows while the others work as his soulmate whispers in a choked hiss, "You were supposed to be the best, but everything went _**gray**_ , you...."  
  
He holds their hand tight and mentally demands for this other future's self to treat Mammon well when time is restored to itself.)  
  
  
  
  
  
"No more time traveling."  
  
"Ha."   
  
"No more secret Families or dealing with long dead idiots that require long boat rides to the middle of the ocean."  
  
"Let's hope."   
  
"No more bizarre team up combat tournaments and dealing with _aliens_."   
  
"I mean," Reborn says as he casually shoots a bit of debris away from them, "I wouldn't complain if none of that happened again. However, Mammon, I seem to recall that you were the first one to agree to Kawahira's proposal."   
  
Pink spreads across their cheeks. Presumably to buy time, and also to keep the hospital collapsing from the mess of a battle royale that has become the fifth floor, Mammon crafts an illusion to direct Dino's attention. _Someone_ has to stop Xanxus from repeatedly shooting up the place, and the person with the whip isn't a bad choice. "You should be grateful I did," Mammon sniffs. Gunfire, metal clashing, and the cracking of a whip make it seem like it would be impossible to hear them, normally. He's almost positive that they're using an illusion to help the conversation go along. "I mean, if we didn't have this little competition, Sawada never would have gotten a chance to figure out a way to fix the curse."   
  
"Funnily enough, I think that means you should be grateful to me for raising such a fine student."   
  
Mammon kicks their feet childishly. "...We'll call it a team effort this time around."   
  
Normally, he doesn't grin. There hasn't been a lot to grin about the last decade, even on the good days, with his soulmate _seemingly_ dead and the curse hanging over his head. Right now, however, it seems like he can't stop. It's only partially because Chrome has shown up to gently guide Mukuro Rokudo by the ear into his room again, and Kusakabe is bribing Hibari Kyoya to do the same for his own. "I think I can agree on a team effort, just this once."   
  
"The point _is_ ," Mammon continues while they both watch Shouichi and Tsuna try to cover Byakuran's shitstarting mouth, "that I've had enough of enormous catastrophes getting in the way of us sitting down to talk."  
  
They have a point. Everything from Mukuro's initial prison escape to this point has been fantastic teaching material for Tsuna, but it hasn't left a single gap for his personal life save the short meeting he had with the Ninth Guardians after the Ring Battles. "At least the majority of troublemakers are currently hospitalized, so that lowers the chances of anything happening."   
  
Mammon only stares at Xanxus and Squalo, who both seem highly offended and on the verge of launching themselves out of the hospital beds they've now been _strapped into_ because Dino has confiscated their weapons. Considering it's Squalo, this includes an entire arm. "I can only _hope_ ," they mutter with all the dubiousness of someone who's been betrayed by this kind of hope before. The Varia are such a troublesome group to work with; he doesn't even need to imagine. Shaking their head, they turn their attention back to him now that the hospital isn't in danger of imminent destruction. "Anyway.... How long between crises does Sawada _usually_ get?"  
  
"A month or two, if the universe is feeling kind to him." It usually isn't, of course.   
  
A hum. "Well... It seems that we'll be stuck here for a while. Definitely at least until we can find a suitable heart transplant for Squalo." There's an itch in the back of his skull as they got silent, an urge to push back their hood to see if their eyes are glancing away from him like he suspects.   
  
Reborn holds himself back. "Is that so?" he says instead, trying to coax them into talking more, into openness.   
  
They purse their lips. "Yes, it is. _So_... If you can leave your son alone for maybe a couple of hours-"  
  
"He's not my son," Reborn interrupts, mood disrupted and his body stiffening without his say so. Mammon stares at him for a moment and even goes so far as to lift their hood up enough for him to see the utter unimpressed disbelief on their face. When he doesn't budge, they roll their eyes and let their hood drop again.   
  
"So if you can leave Sawada alone for a couple of hours and trust that he won't choke on his own oxygen," they start again, "then I'm sure I can figure out a way to distract Bel and have some time away from the others as well." From their seat, they kick their feet again, burning nervous energy. "...If you want."   
  
Carefully, as if they might bolt or yell, he reaches over to rest his hand on theirs. "We've had enough interruptions," he murmurs. "You said it yourself. I'm not going to let anything get in the way of us talking this time."   
  
"Hmph." Just a trace of a pleased smile is on their face before they turn their head away. "You're so stubborn, I guess I can take that kind of promise as a fact."   
  
"I said it as nothing else."   
  
The pair of them lapse into silence again, the ruckus of various attempts at damage control only a faint background noise. Four different Families means, at least, that a there will be a lot of people on hand to help clean up the mess the troublesome patients have left. Reborn doesn't concern himself with it.  
  
For the first time in years, things are back to how they should be.   
  
Time clicks on, taking him and his soulmate with it.   
  
The name on his back is warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part about Dino's backstory is taken from one of the KHR Bullet Point novels. (Bucking Horse Stampede - I have a translation on file I can email to folks interested.)


	9. Make It All Night Long

"Soooo, how have the talks been going?"  
  
Mammon sighs. "Lussuria, please focus while you have a sharp object near my head."   
  
Their attempt to abscond from this particular conversation falls flat. Lussuria just snickers, and waves the scissors through the air casually. "Please. If you were worried about me talking and doing your hair, you'd have spoken up _long_ before now. It's not like I'm Bel or Squalo." Mammon pouts, but it's true. Lussuria is the only person with a steady mind to match her steady hand in this entire mess of an organization. At least, in the higher ranks, anyway. As they sulk, she keeps going. "I'm not going to let you run away from your soulmate again this time."  
  
 _Ugh_. Mammon hunches their shoulders up, even though predictably Lussuria smacks them down again so she can start dusting away any stray hairs from their neck. "That was _five years ago_ , Lussuria! I'm not going to run away."   
  
"Mhm."   
  
"I'm _not_."   
  
"Yes, Mammon. So how are they going?"   
  
"Fine," they answer, scowling.   
  
"You haven't gone on any dates since he's been in Namimori training Sawada, right?" Holding some of their hair with one hand, Lussuria taps down her shades and winks at them through the mirror. "Now that Sawada has proven that he'll be alright with the Vongola, I bet his schedule will be all cleared up. There's no better time for a spicy get together."   
  
"Lussuria!" Nothing but a loud cackle greets them, and Mammon silently fumes. The whole of Varia Castle has nothing but trolls. Sighing, they cross their arms. "'Spicy get together', _please_."   
  
"Hmmm, I suppose there is a certain problem," Lussuria muses as she goes back to work, twisting strands of hair together. "It would feel more than a little awkward, I imagine, to try and do anything when you both have the bodies of ten year olds."  
  
"There's no guarantee that will even happen, you know," Mammon points out, resisting the urge to shake their head. Her fingers are still twining braids, after all. "We've talked while he's been in Japan, but that's it. For all I know, that's what he prefers now." If they're honest, it's probably been for the better... From what they can tell, Reborn has found a rhythm to his life. It feels more than a little weird- disruptive- to find a place in that rhythm, so they haven't bothered. "Anyway, all our first dates were normal, so you can be quiet about 'spiciness'." A pause and they frown into the mirror. "...Well, someone always did die during them.... Is that a problem we should try to change, do you think?"  
  
"Well, was someone dying the whole date?"  
  
"No, we had dinner and talked."  
  
"Then I wouldn't worry." Lussuria shrugs and gets to work on the other braid going along the opposite side of their head. "Did you agree to meet with him for this party?"  
  
"What happens happens," Mammon says stiffly, and does their best to ignore Lussuria's snickering. Just to change the topic, they turn it on her. "What about _your_ soulmate?"   
  
It works well enough. The way her eyes gleam can almost be seen past her shades. "Oh, he's _wonderful_ ," she says, way too smug and way too pleased. Mammon rolls their eyes, but they're not that bothered. They know the life she lead before Mammon found her for the Varia's inner circle, all those years ago. She more than deserves to gush about her soulmate, even if he's some graying mafioso. There's something soothing about her chatter as well that fills the silence while she finishes with their hair.   
  
It's right as she's done and handing them their hooded capelet that a resounding boom shakes the castle to its core. In the mirror, Lussuria's reflection quirks her head to the side, listening and ignoring the dust wafting down from the ceiling. Mammon finishes sliding the buttons through the respective slots. Nearby, Fantasma hops over to nestle in the crook of their neck.   
  
"So I guess we're heading out early," Mammon says blandly, right in time for the door to Lussuria's room to be kicked open.  
  
"Mommy and Daddy are fighting again," Bel drawls, kicking the door shut behind him again. He's going to break the heels on his boots if he keeps it up. Mammon would tell him to straighten out his suit and the Varia coat draped across his shoulders, but... It's Bel. It'll return to the status quo of sloppiness in five minutes minimum.   
  
....God, they're sounding like Reborn. His neat freak nature is rubbing off on them through the phone.   
  
As Mammon come to terms with this revelation, Lussuria shakes her head. "I knew the boss would be resistant to the idea, but I didn't know he'd be _this_ angry at the prospect of going. Oh well... I take it Levi is staying around the battlezone then, too?"  
  
"Shishishi.... If we're lucky, then maybe he'll get caught in the crossfire and die." He tries to drape over Mammon, who shifts into mist and escapes, ignoring his sulking.   
  
As they reform by the window, Mammon looks back to the two of them. "If he decides to come or not, it'll probably be ages before he either makes up his mind or Squalo gives up. Let's just go on ahead ourselves- the Varia needs _some_ measure of representation." Shoving open the window, they leap out and let illusionary tentacles carry them down the wall. Lussuria and Bel take a much simpler method and merely jump- Lussuria's Sun flame and reflexes letting her absorb and roll with the impact, while Bel.... Bel is simply a freak.   
  
Bel is also a little shit whose sprawling takes up the entire backseat of the convertible when they drive off. Brat.   
  
The drive to the particular bit of Vongola estate holding the party is uneventful, save for the occasions where Bel shows off the dagger and wire he's hidden in his heels by harassing the few cars they pass. By the time they arrive, the small mansion is lit up by the fading remnants of sunset's light, and cars are already filling the driveway. Oh well. They're the kind of people who can afford to be fashionably late.  
  
While Lussuria tosses the keys to a panicky valet, Mammon glances up at the pair who are waiting by the impressively large doors. Salvatrice Bianchi- ah, right, Salvatrice _Cavallone_ née Bianchi at this point. Either way, the Cavallone pair are there, with her scorpion tattoo contentedly orange from where it's crawled onto her shoulder to be directly under Dino's touch. The don in question sighs as the three Varia members stride up the steps. "Squalo is late _again_ trying to talk to Xanxus, isn't he?" he asks in exasperation. At his side, Salvatrice reaches into her purse and flicks open a phone wordlessly. The look in her eyes hints at calm but potent murder.   
  
"He's dead," Bel says flippantly.   
  
"He'll probably be here in two hours," Mammon says, partially to knock the wind out of Bel's sales. Combined with Dino ignoring Bel's answer completely, the little hellion is left sulking.   
  
"Somehow I'm not surprised at all," he answers, running a hand through his hair while his other soulmate slips from his fingers to talk on the other side of steps. Mammon can just barely hear her hissing into the phone. Funnily enough, it's much easier to hear Squalo's shrieking on the other end of the line. "Anyway, Lussuria- Romario is over talking to Gokudera about the ports in Palermo by the appetizer table."   
  
Pleased, Lussuria fluffs up the fur wrap around her shoulders and immediately heads off. "See you inside, Mammon, Bel," she purrs, disappearing into the enormous foyer of the place. At the same time as she vanishes from sight, Salvatrice comes over from the other side of the steps.   
  
"He'll be here in a hour," she informs her soulmate, nearly wearing quiet confidence. "Until then, we can probably waste some more time inside."   
  
Bel huffs in disappointment as the pair go inside again, arms linked, and entwines his hands behind his head. "I was hoping for a more dramatic explosion," he complains as he tags along besides Mammon when they head in themself. "A prince needs better entertainment."   
  
"Then go harass Gokudera once Lussuria's pried Romario away from him," Mammon answers, only half paying him any mind. Their eyes are focused on flicking through the crowd, trying to peer past legs and torsos for another figure around their height. A sea of color- glimmering greens, achingly bright reds, rippling navy- but they're looking for pale skin and pitch black eyes. "You have plenty of options that don't include murdering anyone part of the party." True, at least a good chunk of the party goers would avoid a teenager with a scythe's curve of a smile and bearing the Varia mark, but anyone that easily cowed won't bear the 'prince's' interest for long anyway. Before he can complain anymore, Mammon becomes invisible and starts slipping through the crowded manor. They're here for a reason, and it's not indulging in Bel's theatrics or quirks.  
  
Of course, the day Reborn makes things easy for them is the day hell will freeze over. Mammon flits through every inch of the house in their search, a silent and invisible ghost to everyone. Well- nearly everyone. Passing through the dining room, tables resplendent with rich good food, has them pass by Sawada and Dokuro. He's in the thick of it, bright eyed and calm as he talks, glancing every now and then to his Mist Guardian with a fond smile. She returns it every time, not seeming to mind the wide berth people give her. When Mammon walks by, they both stir, eyes subtly becoming sharp for a brief moment. Just as quickly, they relax. Honestly, Sawada's intuition is a menace. Mammon is glad they don't have to deal with it often. They leave the pair to it, resuming their search.   
  
Every now and then, they stop for to eavesdrop on particularly fascinating bits of gossip or muttered impressions the guests have about the new Vongola generation. They're not like what the mafia is used to, and the whole order is in disarray because of this little group of Japanese misfits who move with a political savvy no one expected. Mammon still can't help but wish their paycheck had gotten an extra boost all those years ago. At the same time... They remember being young with their accent still tripping on English, burning with want and bitter anger, and can't help but smirk privately to themself.   
  
Eventually, with the night sky stretched overhead, they call it quits with a muttered curse and a plate of various appetizers. A balcony overlooking a vineyard is where they settle, perched on the railing watching the business inside and with their illusion dispelled. They're testing the squishiness of a baby tomato between their teeth when something catches their eyes: deep indigo and accents of gold. Black eyes.   
  
It's another child around their age, wearing a ballgrown of deep indigo fitted for their frame and a set of gold bracelets. Long waves of black curl around those pale shoulders. Most notable of all, however, are those eyes.   
  
Mammon stares.   
  
The stare abruptly turns into a scowl, but all that does is earn a teasing smile before the other child ducks and weaves expertly past the rest of the party goers to join Mammon out on the balcony. "I can't believe you," Mammon grumbles as their soulmate hops up to sit down besides them. "How long were you hiding purely to wait me out?"  
  
"Taking in your interest in gossip?" Reborn leans over to filch a piece of cheese off of their plate, and ignores their swat. "A couple of hours after I saw your car pull up."   
  
"You know, despite the fact that he's just barely _not_ the trainwreck he was at fifteen, the Bucking Horse and Scorpion still waited for Squalo."   
  
"No one ever told my student he had good sense." From beneath Reborn's currently long wavy hair, Leon peaks out and makes pleased clicking noises at the sight of Fantasma's red eyes. "Besides, I feel like you had more fun searching for me."  
  
"Hmph." Mammon turns their head away. "I was expecting one of your usual suits."  
  
"I considered it, but you've seen how I am as an adult. It's not a body type really meant to emphasize cuteness." When they glance back at him, he's preening. "I thought I might as well take advantage of this while I can."   
  
"You and your costumes, I swear."  
  
"I look good in them."   
  
Mammon rolls their eyes, not caring if the gesture is lost on him with their hood up. It's the principle of it. In the end, however, they concede, "You look nice... when you're not dressing up in ridiculous Halloween costumes like spiders or bushes."   
  
Reborn's eyes glitter in amusement. "Those are less for looking nice and more to see the look on my students' faces."  
  
"Sadist."  
  
"Always."   
  
Drifting off into silence, Mammon considers him. They'd gotten so caught up in looking for him, they've forgotten what to say now that they've found him. Either Reborn isn't in a rush or he's thinking the same thing, because he stays quiet as well. Mammon sets the plate down between them on the stone railing for the both of them to pick through at their leisure, watching the crowd inside. It's been years, and years of them having worked with a team. They should be better at socializing.  
  
As they watch the room inside, Sawada drifts through again- this time not with Chrome, but Kyoko and his Right Hand flanking him on either side. Oh, right. " _How_ many soulmates does he have again? I'm amazed the old guard hasn't kicked up more of a fuss. He's already unpopular as it is, right?"   
  
"No one cares what the old guard thinks," Reborn says dismissively. "They're all close to being dead anyway. Half the council now is people close to Tsuna, since the Simon Family qualified and Yuni accepted Tsuna's invitation onto it. The current dons might be playing stubborn-"   
  
"But their heirs probably see where the wind is blowing," Mammon says with a nod of their head, leaning back and kicking their feet. "Those old fools are going to be rolling in their eventual graves, but oh well."   
  
"Besides," he continues with a smirk, "the bonds are all legitimate. Every test investigating them passed. At any rate, the old guard of the _Vongola_ is pleased. More than two thirds of his guardians as soulmates, and one of them the sister to his Sun? It's a tight bond that's guaranteed to hold the Vongola together after how uncertain things were with Timoteo and his sons."   
  
"Which is exactly why the rest of them are pissed," Mammon snickers. Oh, mafia politics. Always one power grab after another. Yet it seems that the Vongola will continue their reign unchallenged, as it's been from the start.   
  
Still... What luck for him. The majority of his guardians, bound to him. Is that how fate was always going to go?  
  
Mammon suddenly laughs, muffling it into one hand.  
  
"I didn't think the situation was that funny," Reborn says, quirking up an eyebrow, and Mammon waves him off.   
  
"It's not that. It's just..." They rest their chin in one hand. "We were always going to end up at this point, weren't we?"  
  
"Sitting on a balcony together?"  
  
"No. Think about it- even without the list of my names on your back, whatever your circumstances, you still would have ended up as a hitman for the mafia, wouldn't you? Up until the point I actually met you, I was determined to not care about my soulmate at _all_. So I would always have become an illusionist for hire." They glance away, but still watch him from the corner of their eyes. "We might always have met up with you killing my client. Maybe not that one, but one eventually. And if not that, then you still would have been the greatest hitman and I still would have been the greatest illusionist..."  
  
"So we both would have still been chosen by Kawahira," Reborn murmurs, catching on.   
  
"Afterwards, you probably still would have become the tutor for the Bucking Horse and then Sawada-"   
  
"And you would have been approached by the Varia and accepted because of the pay, the secrecy, and access to good facilities."   
  
"All finished up by me yelling at you during the ring battles, or Kawahira's little battle royale." Mammon's mouth twitches up in a small smile. "Now we're here. At this ridiculous mafia party. Our lives were going to be entangled together from day 1. And..." This is the hard part, frustrating as it is. The part where their words want to curl up in their throat and never leave. Mammon forces them out as casually as they can regardless. "I want them to stay that way."  
  
There. It's out on the table, now, and that's all they can do. Mammon knows what they want. Figuring out if it's what _Reborn_ wants is a lot harder.   
  
After all, just like when they first locked eyes with him across the table of some Chinese restaurant, his pitch black eyes reveal nothing to them. They could puzzle out more things from the formation of the stars- points of shimmering silver and soft golds and stranger colors still, all in a sea of inky blue and indigo void- than his goddamn eyes.   
  
Mammon sort of wants to kick him, if only for a reaction. They hold back.   
  
"I want that too," he says finally, quietly.   
  
"Do you want it because you _want_ it, or because you're going on some idea of what it means to be soulmates? Just because we're bound to one another doesn't mean it's to make each other _miserable_." They reach over to swat at his shoulder, but Reborn intercepts them with his fingers sliding in the gaps between their own. Mammon starts at the warmth of it. It's been _years_ since they've gotten to touch him.  
  
"Mammon," he says, grinning wryly, "I want it. Really."  
  
"Oh," they respond, quick and clever with their words during highly emotional moments as always. "Good."  
  
For a moment, there's only the voices of the party seeming so far off and the warmth of his hand. The heat of him keeps them down to earth instead of drifting and dispersing, like mist is so prone to do. Their words come to them like this, after a moment. "Do you think we should pick up right where we left off as if nothing happened?"  
  
"Except things _did_ happen. A lot of things."  
  
"I know." They lick their lips. "I was thinking we could go back to the start, actually."   
  
"The start?" A flicker of curiosity quickly becomes teasing as he smirks to them. "Do you want me to start poaching your hits?"  
  
"Don't you dare!" His laughter at the way they bristle nearly drowns out Mammon's words and they wait for him to get it out of his system, fuming all the while. When he finally finishes, they clear their throat. "I was _actually_ thinking we could play a game."   
  
Recognition flares in his stare. "What kind of game?"  
  
"A guessing game." Fighting back the urge to glance away like a child with their first crush, Mammon goes on. "I'll guess something about you. If I'm wrong, then..." They have to force the words out. "I'll tell you something about any of the names you have on your back. In turn, you have to guess things about me."   
  
"If _I'm_ wrong?"   
  
"...Do you have room for a wallet in that dress?"  
  
Shaking his head in amusement, Reborn reaches into the maelstrom of ruffles that compose his lower half. Somewhere in all of that must be a pocket, because he pulls out a fine leather wallet. "It's full, too." He grins at them slyly. "I know you wouldn't settle for any less."   
  
"Yes, well." _This_ they have to look away from him for. God, they hope the light from inside the mansion isn't enough to illuminate past their hood or the night. "For tonight only, since it's the first time we've seen each other in person for years... I don't mind giving a little bit of a discount. 20 euro is fine. It's not like I'm going to refuse even pocket change."  
  
They're not going to look at him. Mammon refuses to. They tell themself so and manage to hold up for maybe five seconds before giving in. What they mean to make just a second has them completely pause at the sight of him, mouth twisted into a pleased little smile they're not sure they've seen before.   
  
"Well," Reborn says as they're still off balance, "it's not as though I'm going to complain about my bank account getting off easy. In appreciation, I'll go first. You've been harassing the Vindice, haven't you?"  
  
Hastily, they try to remember if they've mentioned that to him before. "...Define 'harassing'."  
  
He snorts a little, amused. "Considering they're busy maintaining both Vendicare Prison and those flames, let's try 'bothering them at all'."  
  
"It's important to my research," they protest half heartedly, puffing out their cheeks and not bothering to deny it. Flicking through their many memories of phone conversations, they think for a moment. "You started letting Sawada off his leash and focusing on his guardians right before high school."   
  
"Close. Right after he went to high school."   
  
"Tch! Of course you'd be a perfectionist who'd go over everything before kicking him out of the nest." Still, they did volunteer for this. Mammon rolls the various names and all the baggage attached to them in their head before settling on something. "Adriana ran away and out of Chile because she was sick of all the debt on her family."   
  
There's no comment about the choice to refer to their past in the third person, or that particular pronoun. He doesn't even talk about the debt aspect. Reborn only nods. "My turn, then. The greenhouse you've mentioned isn't even in the same country as Varia headquarters."   
  
And that's it. That's their night. Mammon can't explicitly say how long they play the game. It's a lot like that evening a long time ago. Sure, they're on the stone rails of a balcony in the Italian countryside and not a little Chinese restaurant, and the sky is void instead of a wash of warm color like that time.... But the feeling is the same, in a way. Despite the fact that only a few meters away is a party alive with people, being with Reborn feels.... secluded. The colors feel most vivid around him.   
  
Gradually, Mammon tells him a little something about every past life they've lived through. Not _every_ thing, but enough. They talk about Pichi, who'd picked pockets for gangs and marveled at how easy it was to become a boy. Avery they come back to a couple of times, fond of the teenager who'd first started to hunger for business proper and grabbed the newest bit of medical knowledge on the brain that they possibly could. Min, in comparison, barely gets a mention- they'd been fertilizer, in a way, for the next life. And Viper, well... He already knows plenty about Viper, doesn't he?  
  
In turn, Mammon occasionally feels daring in their guesses. Sometimes, they're simple. Other times, they poke about trying to get out of him the man who existed before 'Reborn'. It only feels fair, right? Fortunately, whatever wounds that his past has carried, it seems they've healed a bit. He indulges them, drops bits and pieces hinting at a sister loved, a gun taken up in her name, and being chased away in anger from the very same.   
  
It's not a lot. Still, Mammon hoards every scrap of information he gives them like a dragon adding to its hoard. They know the value in the things he tells them.   
  
Their game doesn't take up the whole night unchallenged. Reborn calls them a gossip, but he's _just_ as bad. It's proven whenever they see someone of note in the mafia circles, or even just one of their acquaintances neither of them have shame in laughing at. (Squalo gets the worst snickering bout, when the two of them see Dino and Salvatrice guiding him along by the hair.) Other times they don't need words, just an exchange of looks when their perch has them spot Sawada slipping out into the vineyards to meet a figure a foot higher than him and twice as broad.   
  
That boy's life is ridiculously complicated.  
  
How much time has passed only really hits them when Reborn looks back into the mansion and observes, "It seems like the party is winding down."  
  
He's right. The room connected to the balcony is around half as full as it was when Mammon first arrived. Hell, now that he's pointed it out, they can feel their eyes drooping. Mammon shakes their head to drag back a little bit of consciousness back. "I suppose I should go find the rest of the Varia then," they say, hopping off of the rail and picking up Fantasma. She belongs back against the crook of their neck. "If it's this late, then Squalo is going to be screaming or Xanxus setting something on fire any second now. Are you going to be staying with Sawada and his lot?"  
  
"As it turns out, Tsuna has kittens at the idea of me driving before I've become a teenager, so yes."   
  
"Oh, aren't you supposed to be the parent in this relationship?"  
  
Reborn rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it. While Mammon snickers at him, he forges ahead. "What is your job schedule looking like for this month?"  
  
"So far, nothing so expensive that I don't feel fine handing it over to one of mine in the Mist Unit." They pause, watching him from the corner of their eyes. "...Have something planned?"  
  
He smiles slyly. "I might."   
  
Something spur of the moment blooms into their mind, and Mammon takes a breath. With quick practiced fingers, they undo their capelet and whip it off to settle around Reborn's shoulders. As he stares at them, actually caught off guard for once (ha!), Mammon says coolly, "Be sure to call me then if you do, or else I might get a job offer from the boss I can't refuse while you're dithering about." With that said, they turn on their heel and stride calmly through what's left of the crowd inside.   
  
Stride.   
  
Not run.   
  
No running.   
  
...Maybe a little bit of a fast walk.   
  
It's easy to find Lussuria down in the foyer, where she's waving goodbye to Romario's retreating back. Honestly, it's a good thing he's leaving. When Lussuria looks over to spot Mammon, she _laughs_. And when Lussuria laughs, Romario's mustache twitches in a way that Mammon thinks might be a sign he's quietly laughing too.   
  
"Be quiet," they tell her stiffly, resisting the urge to fidget with their suit.   
  
"Oh, I didn't say a _thing_ ," Lussuria replies, still smirking to herself. "I take it that your meet up with Reborn went well?"  
  
"None of your business." They sulk up at her, doing their best to ignore her giggling. "Where's Squalo and the boss?"  
  
"Well, Romario said he had just got a call from Dino, so Squ-chan-"  
  
As if right on cue, a earsplitting "VOOOOOOO _OOOOOOOOOOOOOIIII_!" rings out through the foyer causing more than a few people to flinch. Mammon and Lussuria glance over to one of the stairs, watching as Squalo leaps down a whole flight and causing the remaining party goers to scatter like startled birds. He's ranting before he even hits the floor. "Where the _fuck_ is Bel!? Come on, let's go!" As he storms past the two of them, it's obvious to see his suit is disheveled and there are a ring of marks around his throat. Mammon and Lussuria exchange looks.   
  
It's nice to know that no matter what's going on in Mammon's own life, Squalo's very existence makes it all seem not as bad. When it comes to relationships, that feeling just gets stronger.   
  
"Let's go wait in the car, shall we?" Lussuria suggests, already heading out the door. Ears still ringing, Mammon doesn't need much more incentive to follow along with her.   
  
Right as they reach the passenger side of the car, Mammon's phone buzzes in their pants pocket. "Hold on," they mutter, pulling it out and tapping at the screen. Whatever expression spasms across their face must be _atrocious_ ; Lussuria chuckles again.   
  
"Got a cute lovenote?"  
  
"Be quiet, Lussuria." It doesn't have quite the snap they were looking for as she slips into the driver's seat, but Mammon doesn't care. They just jerk their jacket up a little to try and hide the heat in their cheeks. Making sure she can't look, they glance down at their phone again and fight to not grin so wide.   
  
_Picking you up at on Friday at six. Flight booked for China, know that Sichuan place you like is still open. My treat. P.S. I'll be keeping this capelet. - R_  
  
Such a gentleman, to make immediate plans in the maybe ten minutes it's taken for Mammon to get in the car to another country with their favorite food. They would have waited a little while for him.   
  
That ridiculous bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Entangled! Thank you to everyone who has given kudos, bookmarks, and commented on this fic. I've been writing fanfic since 2009, but it was all mostly oneshots. I've never managed to truly start and complete a multichaptered fic like this, so I'm really proud I've gotten to this point! 
> 
> In the RP this is based off of, Reborn manages to realize Mammon could potentially be the source of the other names in their initial guessing game, so this is quite the divergence, ha ha. However, idle chatter me and Chaer exchanged made me really curious to this kind of route, so I felt inspired to write it. 
> 
> For most of my one-use characters, I simply borrowed other characters to put into the KHR canon for fun. In order of appearance: Amethyst (Steven Universe, the source of gossip Viper uses to hear about Reborn), Rize Kamashiro (Tokyo Ghoul, Viper's first post-Reborn client), Madoka (Getbackers, the violinist Viper was protecting), Corvo Attano (Dishonored, the man Viper and Reborn busted out of prison), and shoutout to Escape From Bug Island (the job the other Arco took on the first time).
> 
> Just in case it isn't clear, 'Bianchi' is decided as her and Gokudera's Family name (which he ditched when he set off on his own). Salvatrice being Bianchi's first name is pure headcanon. 
> 
> All the love to Chaerring, who is half the reason this fic is as great as it is. 
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who's read! 
> 
> \- Trilies


End file.
